Continuation of the Dream
by Caphriel
Summary: That which was lost.  That which is regained.  A wish that could not be granted, and a miracle she did not wish for.  In the end, she finally found happiness.  This is a story of Arturia Pendragon.  Fate route sequel.
1. Chapter 1

Fate/stay night and Fate/zero are the property of TYPE-MOON. This story is a work of fanfiction, and the author makes no claim to these properties. Some lines of dialogue have been excerpted from the above works in their entirety in this fanfiction. They are from the translations by mirror-moon and Baka-Tsuki, respectively.

I would like to extend my gratitude to my prereaders Kyadytim, Mashadar, Da-Guru, and ttestagr for their help polishing this story.

This is the largest published fanfiction undertaking I have begun to date. I would like to ask that you bear with me through the ups and downs, as it has already been a learning experience for me. Now, please enjoy the story.

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**Continuation of the Dream**

**Part One: Waking from the Dream**

**I**

"Your highness! King Arthur, please come this way!"

The first thing she is aware of when her consciousness returns is pain. The pain of her wounds, aggravated by the jarring gait of the horse she is lying on, overwhelms her senses. She knows she is dying, that her wounds are surely fatal, but she clenches her teeth and bears the pain as her awareness fades in and out.

The horse stops, and she is lifted from its back. It hurts, but she is too exhausted to cry out. Why does it hurt? She remembers fighting a man in golden armor, but she defeated him with only minor wounds. She remembers, too, that she wielded both sword and sheath in that fight, but she knows that cannot be, as the sheath was lost to her.

"Your highness, please stay here. I shall go get someone right away." The voice is of her last loyal knight, and as he lays her down, propped against the rough bark of a tree, she wonders absently where he thinks to go for help.

"Please endure until then. I shall certainly bring our troops here." His footsteps crunch away across the forest floor. Their troops? She is certain that she will not live that long, so she musters her remaining strength, and speaks.

"Bedivere." The footsteps stop.

"Your highness? Have you regained consciousness?" Consciousness. She was unconscious? An explanation for the man in golden armor and the boy with red hair occurs to her.

"Yes. I was watching a dream." Her voice is faint, even to her own ears, and for a moment, her memories of the red-haired boy seem more real than the battle on the hill.

"A dream?" Her knight's voice is uncertain, so she must reassure him.

"Yes. I have not seen many dreams, so I had a valuable experience." She is rambling, and she knows, but she cannot force her mind to focus. How bad are her wounds? She cannot tell, and the pain comes and goes, or maybe her consciousness comes and goes.

"That is great. Then please be at ease and rest. I shall go get the troops in that time." Bedivere's voice is relieved, but his words make no sense to the delirious king. She inhales, to ask him to clarify, but her breath comes in a pained gasp.

"Your highness? Have I been rude...?" His voice is uncertain.

"No, I was just surprised at your point. I did not know a dream could be seen after one awakens. Are you saying I will be able to see the same dream if I close my eyes again?" She knows it is an inane question, and yet she cannot keep the hope out of her voice entirely. It would be wonderful to return to that place where she does not have to be a king.

"Yes. If you strongly desire so, you should be able to continue watching the same dream. I have that experience as well." His voice is halting, and she knows he is lying to comfort her. At that moment, she accepts that she will die here.

"I see. You are knowledgeable, Bedivere." A lie for a lie, and a comfort for a comfort. But if she is to die here, there is something she must have the knight do.

"Bedivere. Take my sword." The last thing that must be done. "Pass through this forest and go over that blood-stained hill. There is a deep lake beyond it. Throw my sword into that lake."

He gasps, as if to reject her command. "Your highness, that is-!" Of course he knows what her order means. She is King Arthur, and Excalibur, the sword from the lake, is a symbol of her reign. Of course he will not accept it.

"Go. Once you have accomplished my order, return here and tell me what you saw." Even if he does not accept it, he must do it. She cannot allow her sword to remain without her, so she commands him again.

She feels her sword lifted from beside her, and knows that Bedivere has left to follow her command. She settles back against the tree and takes a deep breath, hissing against the pain of her wounds. To distract herself from the pain, she tries to recall the details of her dream, but instead finds herself reflecting upon her reign.

Although she recalls distantly that she regretted her choice to take the sword and the crown as she fought Mordred upon the hill, she feels no regret now. King Arthur protected Britain for many years, and in that time, she never once betrayed her beliefs. She feels a vague sense of pride as she falls to unconsciousness.

The crunching of leaves wakes her, and she opens her eyes to see her knight, returned from the lake. He kneels before her.

"It is done, your highness." His voice is uncertain.

"What did you see?" she asks. He does not reply, and she knows that he has lied to her. She does not waste time reprimanding him, but instead instructs him.

"Follow my command."

The knight rises, bows, and returns to his horse, but the king is unconscious again before he reaches it. She dreams again of the strange red-haired boy, and feels affection for him. He is joined by a girl in red and a man in red, and all of them seem familiar to her, but she knows she has seen none of them in her life. Still, she thinks wistfully that it would be nice if she could have lived with them.

She wakes again at Bedivere's return. This time, he does not kneel, and she is now too weak to lift her head. Minutes pass as he stands before her in silence, and she finally musters the strength to speak.

"Follow my command." She repeats her previous order and slumps, exhausted by the effort of speaking. As the knight's footsteps move away, she wonders if she will be alive to command him again if he returns a third time with her sword. Although she can say with certainty that she has no regrets in her life, as her mind falls back into darkness, lit by hazy memories of a life she never lived, she thinks clearly-

'I don't want to die here. I want to live.'

The whickering of a horse wakes her again, and she slowly returns to consciousness. The pain from her wounds has faded to the back of her mind, and she feels as if she is floating, detached from her body. The only thing anchoring her body to her mind is the sensation of something hard pressing into her back.

"I have thrown the sword into the lake." Bedivere says it clearly, and she is relieved to know it is finally done. "The sword has returned to the lady of the lake."

She opens her eyes and forces them to focus on the knight. "I see. Then you shall be proud. You have obeyed your king's command." Her voice is weak, and her knight only nods silently in response. She is satisfied. With this, she can finally rest, free of her duty as king. However...

"I am sorry, Bedivere. This sleep will be... a... long..." She tries to apologize to the knight, who carried out her commands faithfully, but she lacks the strength to finish, or even to keep her eyes open. As her awareness fades for what she knows will surely be the last time, she hears his sad-sounding voice, as if from a great distance.

"Are you watching, King Arthur? The continuation of the dream?"

And King Arthur, watched over by a single knight, dies peacefully.

~~~Interlude 1-1~~~

Her mind is floating, and fragments of memories return to her. She remembers...

-Excalibur flashed in the light, and the woman with white hair smiled as she swung-

She remembers...

-Flames-

She remembers...

-A boy with red hair on the floor, a man in blue standing over him-

She remembers...

-A flash of red, and then pain-

She remembers...

-A girl in red and a man in red-

She remembers...

-A mad giant and a girl with familiar white hair-

She remembers...

-A long sword and temple stairs, under the moonlight-

She remembers...

-The repeated crash of wooden swords above a wooden floor, and the boy with red hair-

She remembers...

-Many delicious meals in warm company-

She remembers...

-Swinging Excalibur against Rider on a rooftop in defense of her Master-

She remembers...

-Fever, delirium and weakness from the prana drain; worry over her Master's disappearance; her relief when he was found-

She remembers...

-Being carried through the forest, struggling to maintain her body; a ruin in the forest, a dusty bed, Rin, and-

She remembers...

-The second battle with the mad giant, Berserker; her failure; Rin's desperate attack, her Master's desperate defense; Caliburn! And then, their joint victory-

She remembers...

-Training her Master in the dojo; the girl with white hair, Berserker's master, watching, and a peaceful lunch-

She remembers...

-The battle with Caster, her Master's injury, and the golden knight Gilgamesh's sudden appearance-

She remembers...

-A date with Shirou, the stuffed animal store, the argument on the bridge, the clash of ideals that broke two hearts, the tears in his eyes as he turned away-

She remembers...

-The bridge again, hours later. Reconciliation. And then, the fight with Gilgamesh. Excalibur defeated, and her Master, no, Shirou, forcing himself to his feet to defend her, forcing himself past his limits to project her sword, forcing himself to fight. Shirou, his arm cut off, lying on the ground. Shirou, cut from shoulder to waist, standing again to defend her despite her protests. Shirou, projecting her sheath; Shirou... her sheath-

She thinks vaguely that she has remembered something important, but other memories crowd her mind, and she remembers...

-That night in his room, and feeling truly happy and free, even if it was just an illusion-

She remembers...

-The realization that her Master was in danger, and her desperate run to the church. The false priest's offer of the Grail that she sought and his blunt statement of Shirou's wish. Shirou's rejection.

"Things lost will never return."

Recalling her oath to herself, even as the priest offered her the same Grail, for the same reason. The knowledge that she was wrong, that she already had everything she wanted. Her rejection of the priest's offer.-

She remembers...

-Returning home to see Rin wounded, and Ilya taken. Their decision to destroy the grail Shirou's decision to return her sheath, their joint projection of the sheath, Avalon. Avalon...-

She knows this is important, but sets it aside because she still feels she is forgetting something... She concentrates, and remembers...

-The fight against Gilgamesh. The destruction of the grail, and then... Sunrise. Her words.

"In the end, there is one thing I must tell you. Shirou, I love you."

He closed his eyes against the glare; she let her body fade. And then, she was back on the hill of corpses-

~~~interlude out~~~

Arturia Pendragon wakes with a start. She stares unseeing at the leaves above her, her mind too overwhelmed to focus.

'I'm... alive?' Her first thought. She had been certain she was dying, and had commanded Sir Bedivere to return Excalibur to the Lady of the Lake. But she also remembers...

'It wasn't a dream!' The Holy Grail War, the fight with Gilgamesh, the destruction of the Holy Grail, and Shirou; none of it was a dream. She was surely wounded in the battle with Mordred, and yet she feels no pain from her wounds. As soon as this thought occurs to her, Arturia is overcome with fear that she is not feeling her injuries.

She pushes against the tree behind her, levering herself to her feet with only a twinge of pain. Curious, Arturia touches her head where she recalled being wounded, but there is no pain, only dried blood. Similar checks to other bloodied parts of her armor reveal that her wounds have closed, and cautious attempts at movement show only some residual pain and stiffness in her joints, and general weakness of her body.

After evaluating her physical condition, Arturia turns her attention to her surroundings. She is in a forest, and she hazily recalls the ride with Sir Bedivere, and his repeated refusals to throw her sword into the lake. The morning sun had just risen when he returned the final time, and a look to the sky shows her that it is morning now.  
'How many days was I asleep?' She immediately discards the possibility that it is the same morning, and turns to examine the depression where she was lying for signs of the passage of time. However, as soon as she sees it, her mind freezes. There, where she had lain, is an impossibility.

"A-Avalon...?" Certainly, it appears that the sheath of her sword was beneath her as she slept, but Arturia knows the sheath was stolen and returned to the lakes, and so her mind continues to reject its presence even as she kneels to pick it up. Its weight in her hands is familiar, and her body accepts it before her mind does.

"This is definitely Avalon." By saying it, she forces herself to acknowledge it. Even as she does, she knows why it is returned to her.

"Shirou." Arturia's voice is warm, a voice that her knights would have been amazed to hear from her. The only explanation for the presence of Avalon at her side is that Shirou returned it to her. It was stolen in her time, and she cannot believe that it was coincidentally under that tree when Bedivere placed her there.

'Shirou, it seems you were able to save me after all.' She smiles at that. His wish, that he gave up out of respect for her, may have been granted after all. Overcome with sudden longing, she turns and leans back against the tree that is still stained with her blood, drawing her knees up and clutching Avalon to her chest.

'Shirou... I want to see you.' It is only natural. Although she had been able to tell him she loved him, she had at that moment been returning to her own time, where they both expected her to die. She had entertained no hopes for the future at that time. It was enough. But now, though she still lives, she is separated from her lover not just by miles, but by centuries as well.

Slowly, Arturia's thoughts turn to the empty sheath in her hands. Excalibur is gone, and with it, her right as king. Moreover, she knows intuitively that she was supposed to die. That battle on the hill was the prophesied death of King Arthur, and the world would not have accepted her as a Counter Guardian if she were not about to die.

'I was saved by a miracle.' Arturia accepts that, but the knowledge of the end of her reign leaves her feeling empty. Despite the loss of her throne, the feeling of wanting to protect the people has not faded. Looking at herself, now a simple swordswoman, she feels empathy for Shirou, who also lacks the power to protect everything he wishes to protect.

That thought brings with it concern about those who fought on the hill. Ally and foe, they were all King Arthur's subjects. Sudden hope that there might be survivors drives her to her feet, and she looks around to get her bearings. A cloud passing across the sun casts a shadow on Arturia, and she reflexively looks up. The sun has almost reached its zenith The reminder of the time brings to her mind many delicious meals with Shirou, and her stomach growls. The angle of the sun gives her a final indication of the direction to that blood-soaked hill, and she sets off. Hungry, alone, and carrying an empty sheath, Arturia heads for King Arthur's last battlefield.

~~~CotD~~~

It is slightly past noon when Arturia reaches the battlefield she almost died on. Her wounds have nearly recovered by the time she arrives, but her body is exhausted in exchange. She plans to navigate from the battlefield to her army's camp, to see if any food remains unspoiled, but the sight that awaits her when she arrives at the edge of the forest pushes her hunger out of her mind.

The hill she fought upon is covered in corpses, and the land around it is covered in corpses. Bodies, maimed and torn, lie thick upon the ground. The ground under them is sodden with blood to the point of being heavy mud. The air is thick with the reek of blood and viscera. The only things that moves in the wasteland are scavenger birds that have come to feast on the corpses. At this sight, the girl who was once a king that ran through many battles covers her mouth and drops to her knees, leaning on her free hand and choking back bile. Without the duty of the king to lock away her heart, she can only stare aghast at the remains of the two armies that clashed here.

To her eyes, there are clearly no victors of this battle. What happened here was a tragedy. Both armies were the subjects of King Arthur, and the war was fought over the throne. The girl who was once a king knows that she will mourn those who fell here for the rest of her life. Despite this, Arturia has no regrets. Even now, she still believes it needed to be fought. Mordred was not a suitable king, and would likely have become a puppet for the machinations of his mother.

Forcibly suppressing her nausea, Arturia ventures out onto the battlefield. She tries to ignore the bloody mud squelching beneath her feet as she walks, and listens instead for human voices. She calls out intermittently in a soft voice as she walks, hoping to hear some response. There is none. The only sounds she hears are the ones she makes as she moves and the occasional rustle of feathers as one of the carrion birds shifts over its meal.

Arturia spins toward a sudden clatter to her side, and her hand goes instinctively to her hip. She freezes when her fingers close on air, and her eyes widen with fear as she realizes she is unarmed. Her eyes flick rapidly across the plain, and she relaxes slightly as she identifies the source of the sound. A crow had knocked a helmet aside, and it had clattered as it rolled down the hill. However, the fear, once acknowledged, it not so easily set aside.

Acutely aware of the absence of Excalibur, Arturia feels vulnerable as she has not felt in years. No, perhaps it would be more accurate to say that she has never felt this vulnerable in her life. As a child, she was secure in the knowledge that she would one day be king. As a king, she was secure in the knowledge that she was the king chosen by Caliburn to rule Britain, and though Merlin had shown her the fate that awaited her, she had taken comfort in the knowledge that she was invincible until that time.

In comparison, her experiences as a Servant had been much more frightening. The disabling wound dealt by Lancer in the fourth war had left her weakened in a way she had never experienced before. Her hopeless fights against Berserker in the fifth war should have been terrifying. However, she had not needed to fear death as a Servant, because she knew that if she fell in battle she would simply return to her wounded body and wait to be summoned again, until she succeeded in obtaining the Holy Grail. The only truly frightening battles that she had fought were those against Gilgamesh, because he sought not to kill her, but to force her to drink from the Grail and deprive her of her wish and her freedom.

For the first time in her life, Arturia feels the dread of an unknown fate, and she trembles. Her earlier wish, to be reunited with Shirou, seems impossible in the face of the immense weight of years separating them. How can she hope to survive the centuries? The enormity of the task she has set herself presses down on her, and she falls to her knees in the blood and filth. Even if Avalon still renders her ageless and will protect her and heal her wounds, she can only fight as long as her endurance holds out. Defeat in battle is no longer an impossibility for her. This knowledge tempers Arturia's desire to protect the people of Britain, even though she is no longer its king.

Considering her limitations, but feeling uncomfortable without a weapon anyway, the young swordswoman temporarily sets aside her search for survivors in favor of searching for a weapon. Instead of moving across the battlefield calling out and listening for a response, she instead picks across it slowly, looking for a weapon that may suit her abilities and style. She finds and discards several swords, unsatisfied with the quality of the blade, or finding the weapon too heavy for her to wield, or not balanced to her tastes.

Finally, she finds a sword she considers acceptable, and cleans it as best she can. The blade is unremarkable, but undamaged, and the leather wrapping the grip is in good condition. It is the most she can hope to find, so she sets aside her distaste for robbing the dead and unfastens the sheath from the belt of its former owner. She slides the blade into and out of the sheath, checking for resistance to the draw, then, satisfied, fastens the sheath to her own belt and removes Avalon to clear the path to draw it. She slings Avalon diagonally across her back and moves experimentally to test that it does not impede her motions. Satisfied, she resumes her search for survivors, but without much hope. At least an hour has passed since she arrived, and she has heard no living thing but the birds.

It is well past midday by the time Arturia reaches the hill she fought upon and fell upon. She has left the hill until last because she knows she will find no survivors there, and because she does not want to see it. It is a natural hesitance; she is averse to visiting the place where she almost died. However, she feels obligated to see Mordred one final time. She was never a parent to him, through no fault of her own, but she feels obligated to at least see him off.

His body lies where he fell, the wounds she had dealt him almost instantly fatal. It was only the strength of his mother's magic that had let him wound her after she struck him down, and in death, there is no evidence of that sorcery. Instead, he looks small within his armor, and his face is frozen in a confused expression. Grimacing, Arturia kneels and covers his body with his blood-stained cloak. It is not much, but it is all she can offer. She remains kneeling beside her son's body for a few minutes, thinking wistfully that it might have been nice to have a family. Maybe, she thinks, if she had a family, her people would not have seen her as inhuman, and this civil war could have been averted.

Her stomach's complaints interrupt her reverie, and Arturia shakes her head to dispel fantasies of what could have been. Rising to her feet, she looks around to locate her next objective. She was uncertain earlier how many days she had slept while recovering, but the state of the battlefield seems to indicate that it was not more than one or two days. The state of her stomach, on the other hand, indicates that it has been far too long since she last ate, so she determines that she will head to her army's camp, where she is increasingly hopeful she will find food and supplies that were left behind to await her army's victorious return from battle.

~~~CotD~~~

Arturia wanders the tents and pavilions of her knights, a pair of saddlebags draped over her shoulders. From her posture, it would seem as though the bags weigh hundreds of pounds. She knows the knights will never return; they died while killing their comrades-in-arms on the field of Camlann. The empty rows of tents press in on the girl walking between them, accentuating her loneliness. Each empty bedroll she passes twists her heart, and she wishes that she had died on the hill with her knights rather than survive after leading them to their deaths. It is a fleeting thought, and she regrets entertaining it, but her guilt gnaws at her as surely as her hunger.

Food she has found in plenty. Bread there is, stale but edible, and cheese only slightly moldy on the outside. Dried meat, smoked and salted, kept better, but is unappealing. She took it anyway, but passed on travelers' pies with unidentifiable ingredients. She found many wineskins, and took the ones that smelled least like vinegar. The bags over her shoulders contain her dinner for tonight, and for several days ahead, as well. Now, she seeks somewhere to eat away from the reminders of her great failure.

To the west of the camp is a low rise overlooking the forest, and she settles herself on the far side of this rise to eat. It will be soothing, she hopes, to sit here and watch the sun set. She wonders briefly if Shirou is also watching the sunset, but remembers what she learned of the world during the Holy Grail War, and wonders if he is watching the sunrise, instead. It is not strange to think of him now, she thinks to herself with a grimace as she bites into stale bread. Her love for his cooking was no lie. Even the best food of her time that is considered fit for a king's table would not be considered fit for Shirou's.

Arturia does not even try to resist reminiscing about Shirou's cooking while she eats. Some of her clearest memories of their time together are of meals, and anything is a welcome distraction from her meal. Fine food is a pleasure she did not discover until she became a Counter Guardian and was summoned for the Holy Grail War, but it is one she takes no shame in. So wrapped up is she in fantasizing about eating Shirou, Sakura, and Rin's home cooking again that she does not register the smoke rising from over the forest until the scent of it reaches her nose.

As soon as she smells smoke, Arturia is on her feet, all thoughts of food set aside. She shoves the remains of her meal carelessly into one of the leather bags to her side and quickly ties them shut as she stands. Slinging the bags over her shoulder, she kicks off the hillside and dashes into the forest. The smell of smoke that reached her nose was not the smell of cooking, but the smell of burning, and too thick to be a simple campfire or cookfire.

As she races through the trees, the former king recalls the maps of this area she studied as her army marched north to meet the rebels. There were three villages in this area that she can recall. One of them her army had stripped of resources to replenish itself after returning from the campaign in the south. Of the remaining two, she remembers that one was near this forest, to the west of the field she decided to meet the rebels at. She cannot be sure of its exact location, but it seems likely that the smoke is coming from the village. She runs faster.

~~~CotD~~~

The forest ends abruptly at the fields surrounding the village. Normally, the trees would thin out and the underbrush would become denser near the edge of the forest, but here the forest was recently cut back to enlarge the farmland. Arturia slows her pace here, not to catch her breath, but to find a place to hide the bags she carries. She cannot carry them into battle, but she does not want to leave them too far away. A shallow hollow formed by the roots of a towering tree provides a suitable location, and she uses the small knife she carries to scratch a subtle mark into the bark of the tree so she can find it later. These actions are second nature to her; her mind is wholly focused on the situation at the village.

Arturia is running again the moment she finishes notching the bark of the tree. She does not know how long the village has been burning, nor what started the fire. She hopes that it was a cook fire that burned out of control, or an accident at a blacksmith's forge, but she has to consider the possibility that there is some sort of enemy waiting for her. In the worst case, the fire was set to draw her into a trap. Despite knowing that, she keeps running. Even if she is no longer the king, there is no reason for her not to protect the people with everything she has. That was her dream as a child, and that was why she drew the sword from the stone.

She finally stops running as she reaches the top of the last gentle hill outside the village and drops to her stomach. It pains her to have to risk delay in the face of a fire, but the threat of ambush slows her. Creeping to the edge of the slope, she strains her senses. She can hear raised voices carried on the wind, but the words are lost. Through the smoke, she can see no movement.

'If it were a natural fire, they'd be scrambling to put it out. It must be an attack.' Nodding once sharply to herself, Arturia loosens her sword in its scabbard and rushes down the slope. Now that she has ascertained the presence of an enemy, there is no need to hesitate.

As she reaches the outskirts of the village, Arturia can see that the village itself is not burning. Several buildings on the far side are aflame, but they are distant enough from the central cluster that there is little risk of the fire spreading. Reassured that the fire is not an immediate threat, Arturia presses herself against the nearest building and creeps toward around toward the center of the settlement, listening to try to evaluate the situation.

"This is the best you can do?" The voice is heavy with contempt, and followed closely by a thump, a heavy thud, and many indrawn breaths.

"The speaker struck whoever he was speaking to, and knocked him over," Arturia evaluates.

"P-please, sir, we're a poor village, and the harvests've been bad." The second voice is terrified.

"We are knights of King Arthur's round table. Surely you can spare us more than a few sacks of grain for our horses and a meal for ourselves." The first voice again, and Arturia begins constructing the history of scene taking place just around the corner from her.

'Survivors from one of the armies, mine by their claim, seeking to resupply before traveling back to Camelot.' Her brow creases. 'Or maybe deserters.' The possibility tears at her. In the early years of her rule, none of her knights would have ever considered deserting. 'Survivors from either side would know I fell in battle with Mordred.' Still, she resolves to give them the benefit of the doubt.

"Please!" The second voice has gained a note of desperation. Arturia concludes that the first speaker most likely made some sort of threatening gesture. "We've no more t'give you!"

"Are you saying we'll have to take it, then?" The first voice, apparently that of the leader of the knights, is angry now. "Alright, lads!" The self-proclaimed knight's tone becomes overly friendly as he addresses his men. "Find what we need and take it! Oh, but don't worry, peasant," the voice sneers, "we'll pay you fair coin for what we take."

Arturia finds herself grinding her teeth. It is clear the "fair coin" he speaks of will be steel. 'I've heard enough.' With that decision, she steps out into the village center.

As soon as she rounds the corner, she sighs in relief. There are only three armed men with their backs to her facing a terrified huddle of peasants. If it comes to blows, she is certain she can defeat them; their hardened leather armor is shabby, and there are no horses in evidence. These men were certainly not her knights.

The apparent leader of the village, a middle aged man, is on the ground in front of the villagers. The blood drains from his face when he notices her.

"No! Please, m'lord, I meant no offense! We'll give you anythin' you want, but please spare us!" The villager's voice is hysterical, and he scrambles backward.

"Now that's more like it!" The armored man in front of him laughs as the peasant begins begging. "I- What are you babbling about, peasant?" His voice becomes confused when he realizes the villager is not addressing him.

"-know you were servin' a noble! We didn't know! Please spare us, m'lord!" The peasant had not stopped speaking when the soldier laughed, and his pleadings are addressed no to the soldier, but behind him.

"Nobleman?" The soldier turns slowly, confused. As soon as he sees Arturia, he barks out a rough "Hey!" and his companions turn to face her, as well. Their eyes take in her high-quality armor and clothing, and the ends of the golden scabbard visible on her back.

"Well." He raises a hand in greeting. "Are you one of King Arthur's knights, too?"

"King Arthur was not in the habit of bullying peasants. I was not aware that his knights were in the habit of doing so." Arturia ignores the question.

"Bullying peasants? Us?" He laughs again, and his companions laugh with him. "We only want a bit of food, maybe some ale or beer. We're not going to tear the buildings down and take them with us!" The two men with him laugh harder, thinking this a fine joke. However, Arturia's eyes narrow with rage.

"Your names." Her inflection is flat. She does not like these men, and is barely restraining her anger at the insult.

"What? Our names?" He is clearly confused. "Who wants to know?"

"I do not recognize you from my court." Arturia ignores his question again. "Certainly you never sat at my round table."

"Your court? _Your_ round table?" He scoffs and steps toward her. "Do you think you're King Arthur or something?"

"I am Arthur." Her voice is unamused, and the practiced lie about her name falls easily from her lips.

"You? Arthur?" He laughs, but steps closer and peers at her. "You're far too young to be King Arthur! Can you even grow a beard yet, boy?"

"I see. You are some of the mercenaries Mordred hired when he came to usurp the throne, are you not?" She no longer bothers to conceal her anger. "As you are still alive, can I safely assume you fled the battle at Camlann?"

"Listen, brat! Maybe your daddy bought you some nice armor and a shiny sword, but don't think that'll be enough to stop the three of us from killing you!" The mercenary steps forward angrily, and his two companions begin circling to flank her.

"I will warn you only once. I command you, on my authority as king of the Britons, to leave this place and not return, on pain of death." Arturia draws her sword as she speaks, and holds it low to her right side, angling her body, left leg leading, to present a smaller target.

"I'll make you a counter-offer, kid. Ask nicely and hand over that shiny piece you've got on your back, and maybe we'll let you leave here alive." His voice is friendly, but his body language indicates that he does not expect her to take his offer. Instead, he stops advancing and draws his sword, taking a defensive stance. In her peripheral vision, she can see the other men unsheathe their blades as well.

'He thinks me a novice.' With combat experience from many great battles, and innumerable minor ones, Arturia can easily see through his plan. 'He intends to provoke me into attacking him, exposing myself his to comrades in the process, letting them strike me down while he fends me off.'

"You will not leave?" The question is rhetorical; Arturia only speaks to distract her enemies while she shifts her weight and stance.

Without waiting for a response, she takes two steps forward and kicks off the ground in lunge, not at the man in front of her, but at the one away from his dominant hand, the one he cannot quickly assist: the soldier to his left that had been circling toward her back. He is caught unprepared, and does not offer even a token defense before her scavenged sword pierces his stomach with all of her weight behind it. She does not stop, but drives her shoulder into his chest and pushes him back another step, gaining space from the two behind her. His shriek of pain is cut off as her shoulder knocks the wind out of him.

Arturia plants her feet after taking a second step forward and twists to straighten, using her left hip as a fulcrum to tear her sword free of the man she impaled. It comes free with some effort, and she feels a moment's pleasure that the sword she picked from the battlefield lives up to her expectations as she completes her turn to face the remaining two mercenaries. She ignores the spray of blood, from the falling man's stomach, that splatters her left side. Arturia finishes the attack in the same stance she started in, facing the enemy with her sword held low.

Her surprise attack to the side has ruined her enemies' positioning, and they now face her in a line, one behind the other, instead of encircling her as they had planned. Arturia wastes no time in exploiting this advantage and rushes forward to engage the mercenary leader before the man behind him can move to support him. She closes the distance in two quick steps and swings with the second step, an overhand chop with all her weight behind it. The blow would cut the man in two from right shoulder to left hip if she were wielding Excalibur. She is not, and his desperate, two-handed block stops her sword, although the force of it drives him to one knee.

She lets him push her sword back and brings it around low in a horizontal swing, stepping forward and around him to add extra force to the blow. The man has no hope of blocking it properly from his current position, and can only awkwardly interpose his sword between her sword and his body. Unable to set a stance or effectively lean into the block, he is knocked sprawling by the blow, and Arturia continues past him, pleased and unsurprised by this result.

The third mercenary was attempting to move around his commander, and is caught by surprise when Arturia steps past the downed man and attacks him. Her sword flashes as she barrages him with heavy blows, stepping forward with each one to press him backward. Each swing is a downward strike aimed to take off one of his arms. She is aware of the risk she has taken leaving a surviving enemy behind her, and hastens to finish this fight so she can engage the last man before he reaches her.

Faced with Arturia's attack, the last standing mercenary can only desperately parry her strikes, and hope his commander can recover and rescue him before his defense fails. The blows rain down, impossibly fast, and the impacts numb his hands. He retreats as fast as he can, but her pursuit is relentless.

Arturia's seventh swing knocks the defending mercenary's sword from his hands. Even as her eyes briefly track the flying weapon, her eighth swing removes his left arm above the elbow as he raises his hands in futile defense. Squinting to see against the spray of blood, she swings her sword back up, cutting into his body above the hip. Her sword lodges in his lower ribs, and her eyes widen slightly. She is not used to her sword failing to cut through anything in a human body, and she realizes immediately that she has erred. With only a brief pause, she follows through naturally on the motion of the swing, planting her right foot against the torso of the dying man in front of her and pushing his body off her sword.

As her sword comes free, she continues forward with her right foot and turns her body, stepping into for the third time that battle in her preferred stance; left foot forward, sword low, facing her enemy in profile. The moment she turns, she leaps backward, swinging her blade up in a hurried block. The man she knocked over recovered sooner than she anticipated, and his sword scrapes across her left gauntlet as he adjusts his swing in response to her defense.

Arturia grimaces as she maintains her defense. Her opponent is keeping her on the defensive with continued light attacks from rapidly varying angles. His sword is lighter than hers, and while that let him overpower his defense earlier, now it forces her to struggle to keep up. However, this soldier is no Sasaki Kojirou. His blade technique, while above average, is certainly not good enough to reach the level of a Noble Phantasm. Arturia continues blocking while she waits for an opportunity.

Her chance comes when her opponent follows up a blocked cross body swing with a thrust at her unarmored shoulder. She steps forward with her left foot and releases her sword with her left hand, using her freed hand to deflect his thrust with her gauntlet, ignoring the shallow cut across her upper arm she receives in exchange. Now inside his guard, she immediately grips her sword and swings upward into her enemy's exposed armpit. Delivered without much weight behind it, the blow lacks the strength to cut deeply.

Her enemy falls back, dropping his sword from his powerless left hand as he clutches at the wound with his right.

"Aaaaaaa-!"

His cry is silenced as her next attack removes his head; blood gushes from his neck. The entire fight lasted just over a minute. Arturia turns away from the corpse as it falls and evaluates the cowering peasants.

"I will not hurt you." She addresses them in the most comforting tone she can manage. The crowded peasants' only response is to huddle more tightly together and to edge away from her.

As the adrenaline from the fight fades, Arturia becomes aware of her own condition. She is exhausted, and she is covered in blood and holding a bloodstained sword in one hand.

"I must not be as recovered as I had hoped," she thinks as she kneels to clean her sword on the edge of the fallen mercenary leader's shirt. "I need to regain my strength faster." Indeed, she had woken at sunrise, still recovering from wounds that should have killed her after sleeping for at least a day. Then she spent the morning making her way painfully to the battlefield, searched for survivors at Camlann, and searched her camp for food. After that she ran to engage in battle again, with only a short break to eat a light meal. It is not surprising that her body is worn out.

Arturia stands and sheathes her weapon, then wipes the blood from her face as best she can on her sleeve and turns to address the peasants again. Perhaps it is the fact that she is no longer carrying bared steel, or perhaps it is simply that she did not immediately slaughter them, but the crowd of farmers seems to have relaxed slightly, and their appointed spokesman steps forward to speak with her.

"M'lord, thank you for savin' our village!" He prostrates himself at her feet. "Anythin' we can offer you's yours for the takin'!"

"I, ah, that is..." She trails off. "I was simply doing my duty." Never has anyone expressed such profuse and sincere gratitude to her before. When she protected the country as the king, it was simply what was expected of her. When she protected one of her comrades in battle, they thanked her by saving someone else in turn. She has never protected the people in such a personal fashion before, and she is bemused by their thanks.

Her words break the fascination holding the villagers, and the adults and older children rush toward the burning buildings. Arturia watches them go, struggling to force herself to focus and to control her wandering thoughts. The motion of the village leader standing again draws her attention back to the present.

"There is one thing, actually." She looks down at her clothing and armor, coated and splattered with drying blood. "Is there somewhere nearby I could clean this?" She gestures to her equipment. "I don't have the proper supplies with me, but clean water would do for now. Oh, and some clean rags, if you can spare them." Arturia grimaces, regretting that she did not think to bring oil and cloths with her, in addition to food.

"Ah. If m'lord doesn't mind, there's a stream past the fields to the north. The women do the washin' there. I'll send one of the children with the rags." He ducks his head repeatedly as he speaks, overwhelmed by addressing a member of the nobility.

"Thank you." Arturia nods, and turns to leave. Her pace is slow, and she does not doubt that an energetic child will reach the stream before she does, even though she has a head start.


	2. Chapter 2

Fate/stay night and Fate/zero are the property of TYPE-MOON. This story is a work of fanfiction, and the author makes no claim to these properties. Some lines of dialogue have been excerpted from the above works in their entirety in this fanfiction. They are from the translations by mirror-moon and Baka-Tsuki, respectively.

I have updated chapter 1 to fix several minor grammar and style issues, and to make a formatting change. On a related note, Da-Guru has joined my pre-readers, or perhaps my post-readers. He is graciously checking over this story in his limited free time, and I'll be uploading more polished versions of the previous chapters as he finishes.

I would prefer not to respond to individual reviews in author's notes. I believe I responded to all signed reviews for chapter one. If you would truly like your question answered, I encourage you to register for this site.

For the time being, it looks like I will be publishing a new chapter about once every three to four weeks. This will persist until I have built up a buffer of several chapters, at which point updates may become more frequent. As an exercise in accountability and progressing tracking, I will try to post status updates to my profile regularly.

Finally, I must beg the indulgence of experts on British history and Arthurian legends. The myths are already something of an anachronism stew, and the details given in Fate/stay night don't clarify much. I spent a great deal of time doing research, which somewhat delayed this chapter (and made me realize the need for a buffer), but I eventually decided that I would have to settle for "good enough" if I wanted to proceed.

* * *

**Continuation of the Dream**

**Part One: Waking from the Dream**

**II**

Arturia hears the yells and shouts of children well before she reaches the stream. From the volume of the sound, it seems as though all the children in the village accompanied whichever one was tasked with bringing her the scrap cloth she requested. When she rounds the final bend in the well-worn dirt path, she pauses, overcome with nostalgia. The sight of children playing was not a common one to King Arthur, and it reminds her of her own childhood, playing with her siblings, the children of her foster father. Although the games they played may have been different, the general screaming and chasing each other endlessly is the same for all children, she thinks.

She smiles at the memories as she continues to the bank of the stream, where a basket of rags waits by the bank. The stream bends here, and the outer bank of the bend where she stands is gently sloped. The shallow, clear water of the stream along the bank sparkles in the evening light, and Arturia stands, momentarily forgetting her task in the tranquility of the environment.

The absence of the cries of the children draws her back to herself, and she realizes they're pointing at her and whispering. Curious, she sits and tries to hear what they're saying, but only scraps of conversation are audible.

"-covered'n blood-"

"-ther said he killed three knights!"

"...said... bandits, not knights."

"...amazing!"

Arturia stops listening to the children as she begins removing her armor. She stacks the pieces neatly to her side, and kneels at the edge of the stream. Taking a rag from the basket next to the armor and wets it in the stream, she begins wiping clean the front piece of her breastplate. The familiar routine of cleaning her armor is soothing, and helps her relax from the stress of the day. She reflects as she scrubs the blood off of her greaves that this was a day she never expected to have, and every day in the future will be, as well.

The prophecy Merlin showed her of the inevitable end if she took up Caliburn has been fulfilled, and yet she still lives. She wishes she could ask him his advice; although the man is often troublesome, his wisdom is peerless. However, she has no means to travel to Camelot at the moment, nor any interest in doing so. Although she thinks herself unworthy for feeling, Arturia resents the betrayal of her knights. Even though she knew it would happen, she still resents it.

"I didn't think it would hurt this much." No matter how much she tried to prepare for it, to be betrayed by the country she sacrificed so much to protect makes her heart, the heart she threw away as king, twist with grief. Even though she gave up her life as a human being, even though she took upon herself the sins necessary to protect the country from invaders, even though she endured the murmurings of her people to dispense justice, her payment was still betrayal. She does not regret it, but instead wishes she could have done more.

Arturia sighs heavily as she picks up her last piece of armor, her left gauntlet, setting the other, wiped mostly dry of water, on the grassy slope behind her to finish drying. Her reverie is interrupted by the arrival of a group of women from the village, carrying baskets of laundry and talking quietly amongst themselves. They settle down to wash a short distance downstream of her, and she turns her attention to the gauntlet in her hand.

Now that it is clean of blood, she inspects it for damage. It blocked two blows today, but the steel shows no damage. Arturia smiles in satisfaction as she puts it with the rest behind it, then touches her shoulder with a frown. The cut she took from the second blow is healed, and there is no pain when she probes at the wound. However, the cut in her clothing remains, and her eyes narrow in irritation as she fingers the edges of the hole. She does not know how to repair clothing. Although she could close the tear, her needlework would be rough, at best. Her thoughts remind her that her clothing is bloody as well. Her eyes flicker to the peasant women upstream, but they are paying no attention to her.

Arturia stands and pulls off her surcoat. Her tunic and pants are sufficient for warmth in this weather, and she believes that she can get most of the blood out, as it has not dried in yet. A knight's training includes basic laundering skills, if only because of the quantity of dirt their clothing accumulates, but Arturia lacks the proper equipment. Still, she sits again with a sigh and submerges it in the stream. While holding the garment under the water with one hand, she pulls the left shoulder of her shift and tunic around where she can see them. As she had suspected and hoped, there is no blood.

'So Avalon is still as powerful as it ever was,' she thinks with relief. 'Only time will reveal if it still renders me ageless. If it does...' Arturia shakes her head, unwilling to hope. If she is immortal again, then there is a chance for her to be reunited with Shirou, even if she has to wait forever. The thought is both uplifting and terrifying, and Arturia is too tired to properly consider all the implications, so she sets the idea aside to focus on her laundry.

Arturia senses someone approach, but does not sense any malice, so she does not look up until the woman standing beside her clears her throat nervously. As soon as their eyes meet, the woman gulps and looks aside.

"Ah! M'lord, we'd be honored to clean that f'you! Please, let us do this." Arturia considers it briefly, then nods her assent. As soon as she does, the woman bends and folds the surcoat efficiently over her arm, then hurries back to the other villagers, and immediately begins scrubbing it against a washboard. Arturia nods again, this time to herself, satisfied that her clothing will be properly cleaned, and sits back to listen to the children play while she watches the sun set.

The only warning she has of any danger is the clatter of the armor she had spread out to dry. If she had not heard the noise, or if she were to fail to react, she would be fine. However, startled by the sound and wondering why she did not sense the attack, she begins to leap to her feet, reaching for her sword, just in time for a pair of tumbling children to crash into her legs, knocking her face-first into the stream.

Arturia sputters and pushes herself up out of the water. It is not deep enough for her to even be entirely submerged in, but it is deep enough for water to fill her open mouth, causing her to choke. She sits up, coughing, and turns to glare at the children who collided with her. They are standing motionless, and one of the women, most likely their mother, is running toward them, holding her skirts up to her knees.

Arturia stands and shakes the water off as best she can, sighing, as she waits for the children's mother to catch her breath. The woman starts speaking before she finishes controlling her breathing, her words interrupted by pants for air.

"Please, m'lord," she gasps, dropping to her knees in front of her, "they're only children! Please forgive them!"

"It is forgiven. Children are children, after all." Arturia pinches the bridge of her nose, fighting her growing headache. The peasants' continued assumptions that she'll punish them for the slightest thing irritate her far more than being knocked into the stream. She wonders who the local lord is, that the peasants here have developed the habit of begging forgiveness for everything.

"Thank you, m'lord!" The woman climbs back to her feet. "If it'd not trouble you, you can have'em as servants while you're here, m'lord." The woman's brows furrow, and she peers at Arturia's dripping form. "Oh! I'm sorry, m'lady!"

Arturia freezes. The woman continues talking, but she does not hear it. Her sex has been discovered. Her mind refuses to work. This is something she spent most of her life fearing. Her authority as king was derived from the fear and respect of her people, not their love for her. If they had discovered she was a woman, she would have lost their respect, and most likely her right to rule.

Forcibly, she reminds herself that she is no longer king, and it will not destroy the country if her true sex is revealed. That thought calms her, and her mind begins to move again.

'Although I do not have to worry about the kingdom, whatever respect I may have had as a knight will most likely be lost,' she thinks, somewhat bitterly. Many times during her life, she had thought 'If only I was born a man' or 'I wish I was not a woman,' but now, she cannot bring herself to think that. It is because Arturia was born a woman that she was able to find love with Shirou. She feels her face heating at the thought, and turns away from the woman and her children.

"Please bring my things to the village. I will come to collect them shortly." She does not wait for the peasant's response, because she does not want to hear "m'lady" directed at her. It is too foreign for her to find it comfortable. Instead, leaving the confused villagers behind her, she jogs away along the bank of the stream, letting the passing air cool her face and dry her clothes.

~~~CotD~~~

The sun is just beginning to touch the distant hills when Arturia returns to the village. What had started as running from the source of her embarrassment had quickly turned into a relaxing walk along the stream, and then through the fields back to the village. By the time she arrives, she has stopped worrying about the consequences of her sex being known, and hoping that the villagers will be able to spare her a meal and a place to rest for the night.

She has determined that tomorrow morning, she will pay a visit to the local gentry and investigate his governance. It seems to her to be a suitable place to begin her new protection of the people of Britain, and as she walks into the village, her plans for tomorrow fill her with anticipation.

The leader of the village meets Arturia in the open center, with a crowd of what must be most of the adults from the area behind him. She raises her hand in greeting as she walks to comfortable speaking distance, noting that the corpses from the fight earlier that evening are gone, and the blood has been mostly washed away.

The man steps forward to meet Arturia. "Welcome, m'lady," he greets her, and answers her wonderings over whether the woman at the stream told her friends what she had seen. "We've your armor and your coat for you." He gestures, and three men separate themselves from the crowd, carrying the pieces of her armor. Behind them, Arturia recognizes the woman who took her surcoat, following nervously. Arturia smiles at them gratefully.

"You can stack those here for now."

"Beggin' your pardon, m'lady, but what're you planning to do now?" the representative of the peasants asks her, wringing his hands.

"Tomorrow, I would like to speak to the steward of these lands. Who is he, and where does he reside?" She is pleased the man asked her for her plans; it allows her to skip pleasantries and request the information he needs.

"His lordship's manor's a few miles west past the washin' spot, and a little bit north," he responds immediately, then pauses. "If you're wantin' to tell him about the fight earlier, m'lady, we can send someone to tell'm."

Arturia nods slowly. "I will certainly inform him about this, but I also have some questions for him," she states firmly. The crowd of peasants mutters uneasily at that.

"Questions, m'lady? About this village, m'lady? We can answer those, m'lady." The man's voice is uneven, and he shifts his weight nervously.

"Some of my concerns are about this village, but that is not all I wish to speak with him about." She narrows her eyes at him. "Why does this upset you?"

In response, the man drops to his knees in front of her. "Please, m'lady, I beg of you! Don't bring trouble to our village!" He claps his hands to his mouth, realizing too late that he has said something most noblemen of Britain would consider unforgivable from a peasant.

"What do you mean?" Arturia ignores the offense, pressing instead for more information. However, the man just shakes his head, eyes wide. Arturia turns her attention to the crowd behind him.

"Will any of you tell me? Why are you afraid that I will meet your lord?" The gathered villagers press back away from her without answering her question.

"Please, m'lady, don't concern yourself with us," the man in front of her says, having found his voice again.

"It is already my concern," Arturia responds immediately. "If he is not ruling properly, it is my responsibility to correct him." Even though she is no longer king, Arturia still feels responsible. The reason is because he most likely gained the governance of this fiefdom under her rule. If he is a poor governor, the responsibility for putting him in the position lays with her.

"Responsibility?" the village spokesman says slowly. "M'lady, did you say, earlier, that you're King Arthur?" His face is skeptical, but with a hint of hope. In response to that, Arturia carefully shapes her face into an expressionless mask.

Telling them that she is King Arthur is out of the question. The people of Britain will not accept a queen, or even a female king, as their ruler, and even the slightest rumor that King Arthur was a woman would undermine the authority of her throne, and the effectiveness of whoever inherits it from her. Obviously, she should lie, and tell them that it was a ruse to fool the thieves. However, her pride as a knight will not permit that, so she is paralyzed by indecision, and her silence drags on.

"She saved the village, didn't she?" A voice from the crowd breaks the quiet, and with that signal, a dozen voices speak up at once, and an argument breaks out.

"Aye, she did! Maybe she can do it again!"

"Maybe she can save us from His Lordship!"

"Idiot! Once she leaves, he'll just send his men for revenge."

"She can protect us!"

"Lord Alric is too strong for some noblewoman with a sword to protect us from!"

"Remember what 'e did to the last ones who complained, eh?"

At the very least, the argument confirms Arturia's suspicions that this Lord Alric has been abusing the people he is supposed to protect. Despite their leader's attempts to quiet them, the people continue arguing, moving to separate into two distinct groups.

"She did say she was King Arthur, 'idn't she?"

"No, she just said she had his authority."

"Maybe she was lying!

Arturia's eyebrow twitches, and she stalks to where her armor is piled and pulls out her greaves, kneeling to begin fastening them on.

"Why would she do that?"

"Maybe she wanted to us to give her what she would've had to steal otherwise?"

"That's stupid, why'd she fight the other robbers then?"

"She didn't want to share?"

Arturia finishes with her greaves, and begins donning her breastplate, trying her best to ignore the increasingly insulting speculation from the peasants.

"How'd a small girl like her beat three men, anyway?"

"She's strong! Didn't you see her swinging that sword?"

"Strong? That's unnatural, it is! She's a sorceress, I say!"

"ENOUGH!"

Arturia's bellow accomplishes what the pleadings of the spokesman could not, and suppresses the impending brawl. The crowd falls silent. She stands, tightens the last buckle on her gauntlets, and takes a deep breath before speaking again.

"Enough." She repeats. This time, her tone is friendly, and her smile is cold. "Your accusations of lies and sorcery impinge on my honor as a knight. I will forgive you this, but I will leave you to deal with your Lord Alric on your own." She slings Avalon over her shoulder and turns to leave.

"So this is all the gratitude and honor of the people of Britain is worth." Arturia bites off her next words before speaking them. She forcibly suppresses her anger, reminding herself that it would be unseemly of her to take out her feelings about the actions of a country on the peasants who are at best a small part of it. She walks out of the village, holding her dignity and pride about herself as a cloak to hide the roiling anger, disgust, and pain of betrayal within her.

Exhaustion from the events of the long day renders her facade fragile. Her control slips when a thrown stone bounces off her armor with a ping, and she can no longer ignore the voices of the people behind her.

"Go on, witch! Get out of our-!"

The voices cut off, silenced by the glimmer of bared steel in the fading light. Arturia spun and drew her sword before the rock reached the ground, but now stares, aghast, at the weapon in her hand.

'I drew my sword on unarmed peasants.' Her thoughts are shocked, and distantly, she wonders just how strongly she resents her treatment. Slamming the sword back into its sheath, she turns again and runs toward the forest.

~~~CotD~~~

Arturia runs until she reaches the forest, out of sight of the village and the people there. She does not think as she runs, overwhelmed with emotions as she has not been since she was a child. Her eyes burn with tears, and her hands are clenched into fists. She forces herself to focus as she reaches the forest, in order to search for the tree she marked to indicate the location of her supply cache. Searching for the tree she provides her a brief distraction, enough to allow her to regain control of her emotions. As she walks into the forest with her meager supplies, she struggles to maintain that control, directing her attention to picking her way through the forest in the fading light. The sun has fully set, and the last glimmers of twilight barely lift the gloom under the forest canopy. Her reflexes and luck are all that allow her to continue walking through the dark forest in the fading light.

Her awareness of time is vague as she walks. She pays little attention to where she is going, save that she travels generally away from where she was. Finally, physically and mentally exhausted, Arturia trips over a root and stumbles into the tree trunk. She looks around, but the darkness is nearly absolute. Accepting that she cannot continue to travel while she cannot see, she sets down her bags and sits against the tree, pulling Avalon around her body to rest across her lap as she does so.

'I should sleep.' That thought is clear, but she feels no desire to sleep. More than sleep, what she desires is to unravel her tangled emotions. She directs her attention inward, trying to regain some of the detachment she had when she was king.

Her strongest feeling is her anger at the people of Briton, fueled by the pain of her rejection by the people she protected, followed by shame that she had hated them. Her betrayal by her knights, culminating in open rebellion against her, and her betrayal by the people of the village she just fled, who rejected her sincere desire to protect them, blurred together in her mind until she felt betrayed by Briton itself.

'Briton has neither use for me as a king nor as a knight, it seems,' she thinks bitterly. 'And yet, what am I? I have always been a knight, and the king of knights. I protected Briton and its people as best I knew how.'

She wonders how she can continue to protect Briton, but that thought leads her to wonder if she wants to protect Briton. Uncomfortably, she realizes the answer is not as simple as it used to be. When she was a child, her only wish was to protect the country and its people. As the king, it was her duty to protect the country and its people. But now, without that duty, and weighed down by her trials of the last week of her reign and the past day, she cannot honestly claim that it is her only wish to continue to protect. Nor, with the cynicism born from recent experience, can she wholeheartedly believe that the people wish to be protected.

'What is it that I wish to protect? What does it mean to protect?'

These questions weigh on her mind. She no longer doubts that drawing the sword from the stone was the correct course of action. Briton needed a warrior king who would do what was necessary to protect the country. Even if that king was not what the people of Briton wanted, she had been the king the country needed. The irony is not lost on her, and she understands now, as she did not when she first assumed the throne, why the end Merlin showed her was inevitable. With that understanding comes a sense of peace. Had she insisted on protecting the village, the result would have been the same: resentment would build and fester, and eventually they would have rejected her.

'"King Arthur does not understand human emotions," was it?' She stares at the shadows of the leaves above her head. 'Yes, certainly that was true. But if I had not thrown away my emotions, I would not have been able to be the king.'

Arturia slides away from the tree and leans back, using her bags as a pillow. 'What I wish for is not to protect people who have no desire or need protecting. I think-' her thoughts are interrupted by a yawn '-think that I should learn to understand people before trying to protect them. Perhaps I shall set aside my sword for a time.'

'Yes,' she thinks, as she drifts to sleep, 'it may be nice to live as a normal person for a time.'

~~~CotD~~~

Arturia is woken gradually by the warmth of sunlight on her face. She sits up slowly, yawning and rubbing her eyes. The forest around her is lit by bright beams of sunlight penetrating the leaf canopy, and the air is warm. With a start, she realizes that it well past sunrise and she shakes her head to dispel the remaining lassitude of sleep.

She feels no unease about sleeping late. For what may be the first time in her life, and what certainly is the first time she can recall, she has nowhere to be and no demands on her time. The feeling of aimlessness is unfamiliar to her, and makes her somewhat uneasy. However, she thinks the uneasiness is more than compensated for by the comfortable freedom she feels.

The freedom from responsibility is also new to Arturia. This morning, there is nobody depending on her to save them, and nobody she wants to save. She leans back, resting her hands on the ground behind her, and watches the leaves blow in the wind. This is an experience for her to savor, and she feels no urgency in moving.

While basking in the tranquility of the forest, she lets her thoughts drift to the future. As comfortable as she is, she knows she cannot stay here forever no matter how much she might wish to. For the present time she has food, and the weather is fair, but neither of those will last. Furthermore, she has no desire to become a hermit.

Arturia contemplates the choice before her. She will have to rejoin human civilization eventually, although she is strongly tempted to avoid it as much as possible. She does not worry for her safety wandering Britain alone; she is a skilled knight, and she has Avalon to protect her.

"Arturia Pendragon, wandering knight, righter of wrongs and protector of the innocent!" She says it out loud, and laughs to herself. 'It sounds like something from a tale.' The idea does appeal to her, but she remembers her last thoughts from the night before. She cannot learn to understand people by living as some sort of wandering hero. She sets the thought aside, thinking that she may try it in the future.

Her next thought is to return to Camelot, but she quickly discards it. She is too recognizable, and Sir Bedivere has most likely reported her death already. Furthermore, she does not think she could bear to be near the people she knew without speaking to them. Even now, thinking about her only friends at Camelot, her heart aches to return to them. Her two close friends, who even now, are most likely mourning her death.

"Guinevere... Lancelot..." She recalls the pain of having to order Guinevere burned at the stake and her relief when Lancelot rescued her, tempered with guilt that she had made it necessary for him to fight his comrades. Happy memories and sad memories flow through her mind, and she realizes suddenly she is crying. The most heartbreaking memory of all is not even one from her life. Lancelot has not yet experienced it, but she remembers vividly how he died in her arms after telling her that he had wished she would condemn him and demand penance of him so that he could atone for his transgressions.

She falls backward and takes a deep, calming breath. She cannot go to them, no matter how much she wants to. She cannot tell Lancelot that he could atone by protecting Guenivere for his entire life, nor can she apologize to Guenivere for ordering her execution.

"You can't redo the past. What's done cannot be redone. This path... I don't believe it's the wrong one." She recites these words, Shirou's words, to herself as if they were a spell. At that time, she rejected her wish to obtain the grail, and chose to accept the past, no matter how painful it was. So she lies on the ground in the forest and mourns for her lost friends, even if they do not know they are lost yet. Eventually, the tears stop, and she becomes aware that she is hungry.

She climbs to her feet, groaning and stretching. Sleeping in her armor is never comfortable, but she was too tired to remove it last night, and is now paying the price in stiffness and sore spots. With a grimace, she bends over to pick through her bags for breakfast. The condition of the food is not much changed for having been used as a pillow, but she does not find that a strong indicator of quality in food.

Finally settling on a hunk of sharp cheese and a loaf of significantly overbaked bread, she slings the bags across her shoulders and shakes herself to settle her armor into place. Bread in one hand and cheese in the other, she sets off, intending to eat while she walks. She stops after three steps and looks around curiously. There are no landmarks visible within the forest, and she does not remember exactly where she wandered to last night, nor has she yet decided where is going to.

"I cannot return to Camelot," she mutters to herself through a mouthful of bread. It would be best, she thinks, to keep her distance from her court, at least until enough time has passed that her face has been forgotten. With that in mind, she turns southwest and walks onward through the forest.

~~~CotD~~~

Arturia sighs with relief as she stumbles over the crest of the hill. There is a town visible along the road she is on, and a steady flow of traffic toward it on other roads. The road she walks is deserted, with nothing within several days of steady walking behind her. She leans heavily on her staff, cut from a sturdy tree before she left the forest, as she steps to the side of the road to catch her breath. She had lost some food to spoilage and the last of her supplies became breakfast two days ago. Walking without food has been trying. She pushes herself back into motion, carefully setting her feet with each step as she descends the slope. As she walks, she squints into the distance to assess the walk ahead of her. The town is either very large, or not very distant, and she estimates that it is only another two hours' walk. She nods to herself in satisfaction. She will almost certainly reach the town by noon, which means she will be able to at least beg a meal as a traveler. Her pride rebels at the prospect of relying on charity, but her stomach rebels at the prospect of a day entirely without food. She walks faster.

She stops for rest again after another hour of walking, leaning heavily on her staff.

'Quite the sight I must be,' she scoffs to herself. 'A knight in dusty armor who cannot even stand unaided.' She sits, and takes a wineskin from her belt. Shaking it yields a slight sloshing, and she puts it to her lips. She swallows twice, then puts it into the bag with the rest of the empty skins.

'I hope this is far enough. I cannot travel further without food.' She considers her current situation carefully. She has traveled for three days south and west of the battlefield, the first of those days through forest and wilderness. The day before yesterday, she encountered a road, and followed it south for the rest of that day, and the next, until it intersected a road going west at a traveler's inn. The inn was a simple one-room structure with a hearth and a large pot of stew simmering. She had claimed herself a meal by virtue of her station, and the man tending the pot had indicated that there was a town another half day's hard travel to the west. She had reluctantly decided to spend the night, and had retired at sunset. She spent sleeping lightly in a corner near the hearth with her sword in her hand, uneasy with the presence of so many strangers, and rose early and poorly-rested the next day to resume her journey. Now she was glad that she had, for she would arrive in a more timely fashion today.

She had considered what do when she arrived while she traveled. Certainly, she could use her obvious status as a knight to command room and board for however long she wished to stay, and most likely she would be given the services of a child as an untrained page, as well. However, that idea reminded her of the mercenaries turned thieves, and it was also what King Arthur would have done. Therefore, Arturia rejected it as unsuitable to her purposes.

Instead, she had decided to leave her armor and weapons, and her surcoat, which someone might recognize as bearing the coat of arms of the king of the Britons, behind her when she reached the town, and present herself as a refugee from the civil war. It was not exactly the truth, but it was close enough to soothe her conscience. That she would disguise her gender and resume the charade of being a man was something she assumed before she began planning. An unmarried young woman traveling alone would draw far too much suspicion.

Arturia considered the road ahead of her before standing. Two larger roads joined it between here and the town proper, and she would need to be rid of her possessions before she reached the first one. She looked around, searching for somewhere to hide her armor. The first road joined hers about a quarter of the way to her destination, and cultivated fields surrounded it on both sides, extending toward her. She would reach them quickly when she resumed her journey.

To the south, another hill blocked her vision, and she saw no likely hiding places. To the north, however, there are small stands of trees scattered across the moor. Settling on these as the most likely hiding places, and comforting herself with the knowledge that it will only be temporary, one way or another, she levers herself to her feet and heads for the nearest grove.

The first three clumps of trees she checks yield no suitable hiding places. The trees are small, and the ground is firm. Arturia lacks the tools for digging, so her hope is to find a tree of suitable size to conceal her equipment. The fourth grove she visits rewards her efforts. There are three trees with trunks thick enough to climb, branches sturdy enough to hold her armor, and dense enough foliage to conceal it. She quickly removes her armor and surcoat, and circles the trees, looking for the best approach to climb them.

Wistfully, she recalls climbing trees with her foster brothers before she took Caliburn from the stone and gave up her childhood. She had always been the most agile, and being the lightest, she could safely climb higher than any of the boys. The growling of her stomach reminds her that now is not the time to be caught in reminiscences. She jumps for the lowest branch she judges able to support her weight, and pulls herself up. She quickly climbs her height again above that branch, and drops back down to the branch and then the ground, disappointed with what she found.

Her exploration of the second tree finds a suitable hiding place: a fork, over twice her height above the ground, where the trunk splits in three. Satisfied, Arturia returns to the ground and retrieves her armor. She holds her breastplate and looks up at the tree she chose, considering. Her armor is heavy and too bulky to carry up the tree. She worries that, even concealed in the leaves, a stray reflection will give away its presence.

She looks around, considering her options. She does not want to dull the metal with dirt and mud, although she will if she must. However, she does not know if she will be able to clean it properly, and does not want to risk rust. Finally, she sighs, and dumps the empty wineskins and crumbs of food out of her saddlebags. She packs her greaves and gauntlets into the bags, divided to equalize the weight, then sets them across her shoulders and makes her way back up the tree to drape the saddlebags over a branch at the fork.

Back on the ground, Arturia carefully wraps her breastplate, sword, and Avalon in her surcoat. She lets go of Avalon reluctantly, and ties the edges of the surcoat closed as best she can. Carefully, she lifts the awkward bundle and works her way back up the tree, pushing it ahead of her. She is covered in sweat, leaves, and bits of bark by the time she lodges it firmly into the fork of the tree and clambers back to the ground. She brushes off the worst of the grime, but her once-white pants and tunic have smeared to a dirty brown. She shrugs, resigned.

'It will help me blend in,' she comforts herself.

Arturia bends to pick up her staff, fighting the dizziness that accompanies the action. Her hands tighten, white-knuckled. The exertion of hiding her arms and armor, piled upon her hunger and her still-recovering body has left her feeling weaker than she is comfortable with, and the fact that she is now unarmed but for a simple wooden staff does not reassure her. Grimacing, she renews her resolve and crouches to collect the wineskins. She cannot bring them all with her, but it would not be out of place to bring one or two. She does not wish to leave them here in case of the unlikely event that another traveler should come by and investigate their presence. Carrying her collection in one hand and her staff in the other, Arturia begins walking back to the previous copse of trees. She glances back over her shoulder at her hidden armor as she walks. 'It is not perfect, but it will do. I will be back for it in day or two, however things work out in this town.'

Arturia drops her burden and sits to rest while she picks out the plainest of the wineskins that are still in good condition. After settling on her choices, she leaves the rest under a tree. 'Ah, I almost forgot.' She shakes her head, dismayed with the absentmindedness her exhaustion has brought. Kneeling, she cuts the leather strap off of one with her knife, then splits it lengthwise. She ties one of the resulting strips around her wrist, then carefully undoes her hair and shakes it out, combing her fingers through it to remove the detritus from her tree climbing. Using the other leather strip, she ties her hair, including her bangs, back in a simple ponytail. She knows the length will draw some attention, but not as much as the complex bun favored by the knights at Camelot.

She collects pebbles and small stones as she walks back to the road. When she reaches the road, she builds two small cairns, little more than a tiny pile each. They are barely visible in the grass, but the line between the two points to the trees where her armor is hidden. Satisfied, she turns her attention back to her destination. Clad in her dirty pants and tunic, covered in drying sweat, with her hair undone, and carrying two empty drinkskins and a raw wood staff, Arturia judges herself sufficiently disguised to enter the town. Satisfied, she returns to the road, walking as fast as she is able, and thinks eagerly of the hot meal she hopes to eat when she arrives.

~~~CotD~~~

Arturia accompanies the travelers she has walked with for the past hour to the town inn. The town is large and prosperous as towns go, with a cobbled square and cut stone buildings at its core. The people who inhabit it seem cheerful, and Arturia is pleased to see laughing children and smiling faces around her. This, she thinks, is what she fought to protect as King Arthur, and she is proud that she has protected it. Unfortunately, she is afraid the news carried by the men she is walking with will dampen the good cheer of the townsfolk.

Two of the men are farmers, a father and his son bringing fresh vegetables to the town market in small carts pulled behind them. The third is a traveling tinker, and carries his tools and some pots in a pack on his back. His is the news that made Arturia forget her hunger when she heard it. She talked with the three men as they walked together, exchanging news. She was careful to keep her comments on what her companions are calling the Battle of Camlann noncommittal, but from the rumors the tinker related, it seems that word has spread already. She recalls his tale with a frown.

_"King Arthur is dead, they say!" the tinker said bitterly, gesturing wildly with his staff and causing the farmer closer to his side to curse at him. His tools and pots clattered on his pack. "They say he fell at Camlann, but slew the rebel Mordred! I heard there were only a few survivors from both armies. Word is, the court at Camelot is dissolving, and who knows who the next king'll be. What do y'think of that?"_

_ The younger of the two farmers, walking at the side of the road, did not answer, and he did not look at the tinker, but the way that he kept letting go of one of his cart handle to swing his arm broadly as he walked made Arturia think that he was imagining the battle. From his expression, she judged he was not imagining it accurately. His father, though, perhaps more cynical, spat to side of the road._

_ "I think we'll be in for some hard years. Who's t'keep order now? W'thout a king, we're t'be seein' the lords feudin' again', like it used t'be." He reached out and swatted his son on the head. "Quit yer dreamin', boy. Ain't nothin' glorious about war. Y've never seen a battlefield. 'S just blood 'n' corpses. The soldiers die and the peasants suffer. We'll be lucky t'see our farm burnt only once, y'hear!" He turned his head to address Arturia, who was walking behind and between him and the tinker. "What 'bout you, lad? What's yer story?"_

_ "Ah..." Arturia was not expecting to be spoken to, and flailed for her story. "My family and my home were destroyed by the battle. I survived, but as you see..." She trailed off and gestured at self-deprecatingly at herself. "I am hoping to make a new start here."_

_ "Issat so?" The farmer looked her over pityingly. Arturia did her best to look nonthreatening, and from the way he nodded, she must have succeeded. "Well, you can't be much older than my idiot here-" He poked his son sharply in the ribs. The boy stopped waving an imaginary sword and sheepishly returned his grip to his cart. "-so if you come t' the tavern in town, I'll see that yer fed, at least. Caelin at the tavern knows me; he'll feed you if I ask'm to."_

_ Arturia blushed and stammered a denial. "I, that is... Thank you, sir, but I cannot impose upon your generosity. I am not that hungry."_

_ The farmer laughed and waved off her excuses. "Nonsense, lad. I can see the way yer lookin' at my cart. You can pay me back by entertainin' us with yer story 'til we get there!"_

Arturia had bowed to his persistence and her hunger, and had taken the opportunity to practice her story. They had evidenced no doubt of her claim of being the bastard son of a minor knight who had been raised in his youth by his father, but sent away to live with his mother when his father's legitimate heir questioned his position. She told them that her mother's village had been destroyed in the fighting, and that her father almost certainly died at Camlann. She claimed no particular trade or skills. She was not certain what skills she could claim mastery of, other than the knightly arts, or the matters of ruling, and she doubted there was much demand for either of those in this town.

She brings her mind back to the present as the elder farmer leads her into the front of the inn. He leaves his son with their produce in the town square, and the boy reluctantly pulls the carts out of the way and sits to watch them. The man greets the innkeeper as they enter the building.

"Ho, Caelin! Is dinner ready yet?"

The portly man, busy at the hearth, turns around, his face lighting up in a huge grin.

"Cearl! I just sent Eni to the baker's; he should be back soon. You made good time this week! Did you leave that lazy son of yours home?"

"Hah!" The farmer, Cearl, barks out a laugh. "The brat's outside watchin' the carts, if he's not too busy pretendin' he's a knight o' the Round Table t' do the job. Not that there's gonna be any more of them."

"So I've heard. You any more news? And dinner for two, then?" Caelin scoops two bowls of porridge from the pot at the hearth and sets them on top of the mantle.

"Nay, three. I've picked up a stray, here." He reaches out and pulls Arturia forward as he steps forward to pick up the bowls. "The lad here's lookin' for a place to settle. Lost his ma an' pa in the fightin'. He could do with a feedin'; he was lookin' at our carts like he hadn't eaten in days!" He laughs again, and Arturia blushes furiously when her stomach growls as the smell of the porridge reaches her.

"I, um..." She fights down her embarrassment. "Thank you for your kindness. I will surely repay you."

"Don't worry about it, lad. You'll pay me back when you find yourself a place here, or you'll work it off before you leave." Caelin fills another bowl and hands it to her, then speaks over her shoulder.

"Eni! Bring that bread over here, then run and fetch Sigbert! Tell him we've got someone looking to settle." He turns back to Arturia. "Sigbert's an artificer, and the oldest man in the region. He's as close to a leader as we've got here. Welcome to Trekern, by the way." He takes the basket of steaming bread from the boy carrying it, who looks up at Arturia with wide eyes as he hurries back out the door. "Here you are, Cearl!" He rips a loaf of bread in half and sticks half in each bowl the farmer carries.

"Thanks, Caelin. You can pick up yer vegetables later, or we'll drop 'em off if you don't come by." He nods to Arturia as he leaves. "Best of luck, lad."

The innkeeper tears another loaf in half and hands half to Arturia. He juggles the other half while he scoops himself a bowl. "You can have a seat if you like." He nods to the benches and tables by the walls. "Sigbert'll be here soon enough. He'll be in his workshop this time of day, and Eni know's where to find him. Eni's my son, by the way. Eleven years old, and he'll be apprenticing to the ostler when he turns twelve next year. Go on, sit down and eat." He nudges Arturia with his elbow, and she makes her way to the tables in a daze. "You have a name, lad?" Caelin asks as he turns back to his cooking.

"Ah? Arthur. My name is Arthur." Arturia feels disoriented by the warm hospitality of the people here, so different from the wary obedience she has always received as a knight and as a king. 'Is this how people normally interact?' she wonders as she dips her bread into her porridge and bites into it. She suppresses a grimace. The food is solid fare, and of good quality, but her time as a servant has spoiled her. 'Will I be reminded of Shirou every time I eat?' She finds the prospect bittersweet. Her eyes widen with a sudden realization. 'This hospitality is like Shirou's! He never treated me as a king, a knight, or a Servant. Sakura and Taiga, too. Even Rin treated me with more familiarity than my court, even though we were technically enemies...' She continues to eat mechanically, willingly indulging in nostalgia.

The sense of someone sitting down next to her brings back her wandering thoughts, and she turns to see who is there.

"So, your name is Arthur, is it? I hear you're interested in settling in our town." The man beside her is old, with graying hair and a deeply lined face. She nods in response to his question, hurriedly swallowing the food in her mouth. "My name is Sigbert. They call me an artificer, but mostly, I just solve problems. Why don't you tell me a bit about yourself, and we'll see if we can't find a place for you here in Trekern."

"Yes, please." Arturia repeats the story she told the farmers and the tinker earlier. As she finishes, Sigbert nods to himself.

"If you know how to use a sword, you could probably hire yourself out as a solider of some sort, and there is never any shortage of demand for manual labor around here. However, I think I have a better idea." He smiles at the obvious relief on Arturia's face. "From your speech, it sounds as though you are educated; is that right? Can you read and write, and figure sums?"

"Yes, that is correct. I may be a bit out of practice with those skills, but I certainly know how."

"Very good. To be honest, Arthur, your presence here is a bit of good fortune for the town. Ubric, our scribe died this spring, and we've been in a fix since. He came down with a cough last winter, and it just got worse and worse, until he died of it..." Sigbert trails off, frowning, and clears his throat. "Now, traveling scribes come by once in a while, but we get enough work for a scribe here to keep one busy. Do you think you're up for the job? It involves a bit of reading and writing, and a certain amount of discretion."

Arturia nods slowly. "I am willing to try. I am confident I can be sufficiently discrete, and this appeals to me a great deal more than working as a mercenary or an unskilled laborer. I would like to accept. However, I lack the necessary tools..." She trails off, disappointed.

"Ah..." Sigbert seems embarrassed. "If that's all that's standing in your way, don't worry. The job comes with supplies. Actually, it may come with a good bit else. The town provides the scribe with room and board as payment for handling certain duties. If someone wants something extra, they'll trade you for your services. Also, Ubric had no relatives here, so... Well, if you take the job, you'll have as good a claim as any on his possessions." He notes the appalled look on her face. "Well, you don't have to take claim anything you don't want to, but you'll be able to trade anything you don't want for things you need."

Sigbert stands up and holds out his hand with a smile. "Come with me. I'll show you to the room, and I'll explain more as we walk." Hesitantly returning his smile and with growing hope, Arturia lets him help her to her feet and follows him out of the inn.

~~~CotD~~~

Arturia flops backward onto the pallet in her new room with a sigh of relief. The straw is fresh and plentiful, and it is a softer bed than she has had since the battle at Camlann, or for a long time before that, if she discounts her time as a servant. She stretches, trying to work out the kinks in her shoulders and neck. Overall, she is satisfied with what she has found here. The former resident, Ubric, kept the tools of his trade meticulously neat, and the rest of his possessions in disorderly piles.

When Sigbert had first shown her the room, it had first seemed to be a storage closet to her eyes. It was a small room built into to the back of the inn, which she had discovered was the largest stone building in the town of Trekern, and the floor was completely covered in junk. The only remotely orderly spaces were the sleeping pallet opposite the door, and the work space to the right of the door containing a small table and a sturdy-looking wooden chest. The room was lit by a small window of bubbly glass to the side of the door, over the table. Arturia wondered why the scribe's room was attached to the inn, but had not had a chance to ask Sigbert before he took his leave.

While she had sorted through the mess on the floor, her mind sorted through through Sigbert's hurried introduction to her job. They had not had much time to talk during the short walk, and Sigbert had hurried off when they arrived, promising to send someone to show her around town the next day, and to explain her duties, which he had summarized as "spend the day available in the town square, reading what people ask you to read, writing what they ask you to write, and occasionally negotiating payments." He had also instructed her to see if the writing materials were still usable by tomorrow.

Arturia had spent the afternoon sorting through Ubric's remaining possessions. Most of his clothes she found to be in good quality, although much too large for her. She sorted the best and smallest out to keep, and left the rest piled in the corner by the door. She was willing to alter them herself if she had to, but hoped she could barter with someone more talented with a needle for their services. She happily noted that although he did not have a mattress, he did have sturdy linens covering the pallet, and a fine, feather-stuffed pillow.

The fact that her predecessor died of illness brings to mind a new danger. She is confident, but not entirely sure, that Avalon will protect her from sickness. As she thought about it, she realized with some horror that most of what she knows about disease does not originate from her life. Instead, it seems to have been granted to her when she was summoned as a Servant as a part of the information magically given to let the heroic spirits function in an unfamiliar time period.

What remained after Arturia finished with the clothes and utensils are the necessities of a scribe, and it was those she last examined in the growing twilight. What she found was a treasure: a well-kept lap desk, stacks of fine parchment and rough paper wrapped neatly in oilcloth, and a large block of dried ink and an inkwell. Within the chest she found many small bundles of papers, which a cursory examination showed to be records, contracts, and other important documents of the townsfolk, organized by some system she can not immediately discern. This discovery answered her questions about the strange location for the scribe's quarters. The stone inn is the safest place from fire in the town.

She returned to her makeshift pallet satisfied with her new home and circumstances. No matter how slovenly the man may have been in his personal life, he kept the tools of his trade with great care, and she will be proud to inherit them.

Now, Arturia sits comfortably to rest and wait for darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

Fate/stay night and Fate/zero are the property of TYPE-MOON. This story is a work of fanfiction, and the author makes no claim to these properties. Some lines of dialogue have been excerpted from the above works in their entirety in this fanfiction. They are from the translations by mirror-moon and Baka-Tsuki, respectively.

My group of prereaders has been rounded out with the addition of ttestagr, who has provided a great deal of valuable feedback already.

Chapters 1 and 2 have been updated with non-content changes again. Chapter 1 has had the full list of prereaders added to the author's note, and chapter 2 has several proofreading corrections. I have discovered with some displeasure that this site's formatting restrictions prevent seperating interludes in the style of the visual novel. One of the changes to chapter 1 is making off the dream interlude with my bastardized demarcator.

* * *

**Continuation of the Dream**

**Part One: Waking from the Dream**

**III**

Arturia closes the door carefully behind her as she creeps out of her room. Full darkness had fallen almost an hour ago, and she can bear to wait no longer. She has heard no human noises for the past half-hour. When she carefully cracks open her door, the only light she can see comes from the stars and the almost-full moon. She has rested for an hour and a half, and anticipation fills her with nervous energy. Now, she slips through the streets as quickly as she can without compromising her stealth.

Her mission is simple. She does not know when she will have another opportunity, so she will recover Avalon and the rest of her possessions while she has the chance. Time is of the essence; she is most likely sacrificing at least two hours of sleep to this endeavor. While she knows from past experience that she can function on short sleep, she is not certain if she can conceal the symptoms of a sleepless night from the people she must interact with tomorrow. Furthermore, she would prefer to have her wits about her. So, as soon as she can no longer make out the shapes of the buildings behind her, she breaks into a lope, splitting her attention between the road in front of her and the grass to the side.

Arturia slows to a stop after jogging for most of an hour, after she finally spots the small piles of stones on the side of the road. Spotting along the line between the two cairns, she notes the location of the copse of trees, an indistinct darkness against the lighter darkness of the night sky. Slowly, she begins picking her way across the rough terrain toward her hidden equipment.

Retrieving her possessions from their hiding place turns out to be much easier than secreting them there. She discovers that climbing the tree in the dark is more challenging than she anticipated, and it is clear to her that carrying her armor back to the ground will not be possible. With a wince for the noise she knows it will make, she swings the bundle of her weapons and armor out as far from the trunk as she can and drops it. The crash silences the animals in earshot, and Arturia holds her breath, scanning carefully for any sign of movement. After a few moments, the natural sounds of the night resume, and she exhales. She grabs her saddlebags from their perch and climbs back down the tree as quickly as she deems safe.

Once back on the ground, she considers her armor. It is too heavy and bulky to carry the entire way back, and she wonders if she should have abandoned it days ago in the forest. She is unwilling now, as she was then, to leave behind this remnant of her past. With no other choice, she sets about donning her armor in the dark, fretting over the time wasted by the awkward process. Finally armed and armored, she stands and begins carefully pulling her surcoat on over the armor. It was designed to be worn above the armor originally, but it is a tight fit, and she is wary of tearing it. It will conceal the gleam of metal, and she hopes it will help muffle the noise her armor makes as she moves.

'This may be the last time I wear my armor,' she thinks as she retrieves her empty bags and begins carefully walking back toward the road. She feels conflicted over this possibility. Certainly she hopes that circumstances will never require her to don it again. If she is forced to wear it to fight, it will be the end of her life as a civilian. However, she is a knight. Her warrior nature is something she cannot imagine herself without, and her armor symbolizes that.

'I am a knight. I am not a civilian. Why did I think I could live as one?' Doubts such as this assail her as she walks quickly back toward the town that she hopes to make her home. The magnitude of the change her impulsive decision will bring hits her all at once. That morning in the forest, she had simply decided to act on a moment's wish. 'No, it was not a momentary wish. It may not be something I wholly want, but it is also the means to an end. My understanding of ordinary people is lacking; this is an experience I require. But... I hope the experience is one I enjoy.'

Arturia is beginning to feel her fatigue by the time she reaches the outskirts of Trekern. A growing headache throbs behind her eyes, and it is all she can do to keep her steps light as sneaks back toward her room. Despite straining her dulling senses, she neither sees nor hears another person before safely reaching her room. With great relief she drops the bar across the door and slumps down onto the floor. 'What is wrong with me?' she wonders. 'A walk like that should be nothing.' But her weary mind can find no answer, and after a few minutes of squeezing her eyes shut and taking slow, deep breaths, she gives up. Tiredly, she removes her surcoat and armor and searches for a place to put it. She settles for hiding it in the corner behind the chest and stacks of fresh paper and covering it with some of the clothes she had decided not to keep. After a moment's thought, she dumps the rest of the discard pile on top of her armor and nods to herself. If nothing else, she will need rags to clean her armor and sword in the future.

She stumbles toward her pallet in the dark, turning her surcoat inside out as she goes. The heavy cloth will provide her with warmth and some extra protection against the scratchy straw. Turned inside out, there is no evidence that it's anything other than a plain piece of clothing. Arturia conceals Avalon and her sword under the straw against the wall, where they will be near at hand in an emergency. Satisfied with her work for the night and painfully tired, she wraps herself in her coat and curls into her pile of straw. Warm and comfortable for the first time in days, she falls asleep within minutes.

~~~CotD~~~

Energetic knocking at her door draws Arturia out of a sound sleep, and she sits up, blinking blearily. The small room is lit by sunlight through the window, and Arturia closes her eyes against the brightness. After a moment's confused squinting around her, she recalls where she is. She stands and rubs her eyes as she goes to answer the incessant knocking. With a grunt, she levers aside the bar across the door and pulls the door open. There is a startled yelp from outside as the door swings open, and Arturia winces as the full strength of the summer morning sun lances into her eyes. Blinking, she makes out five people standing outside her door, one with his hand still raised to knock.

"Arthur, right? G'mornin' to you." One of the figures steps forward. "My name's Eadwyn, and I-" he cuts himself off, looking her up and down. His gaze takes in her disheveled hair and rumpled clothing. "Were you _sleeping_?"

"Ah, yes..." Arturia chokes back a yawn and takes a moment to examine the young man in front of her. He is dressed in clean and well-kept clothing, with no obvious signs of mending, and unarmed. Arturia assesses that he is not a threat.

"Can I help you?" she asks, not bothering to stifle her yawn this time. 'This had best be important,' she thinks. 'If they're simply here because they're curious about the new person in town...' She knows that it is natural curiosity, and the people in front of her appear to be young adults, if not older children, but the possibility still makes her wish to teach them some manners, preferably with a practice sword.

"Um... I'm Eadwyn, er, as I said. My father- that is, Sigbert, sent me to show you around town?" Eadwyn trails off into silence as her expression darkens. "Is... something wrong?"

"I am tired. Please excuse me for a moment." Arturia pushes the door closed and turns back to her room. There is a pitcher, and a basin for washing, that she found in one of the piles of odds and ends left on the floor, but she has no water. She settles for running her fingers through her hair before tying it back, and scrubbing her face with the cleanest part of her surcoat she can find. 'I must inquire about water, and laundering clothes,' she thinks as she turns back to the door. The thought of water makes uncomfortably aware of the fact that she is thirsty.

She opens the door again, pasting a smile onto her face. "Hello. I apologize for my rudeness. My name is Arthur. I am pleased to meet you." Her response is five faces staring at her with varying looks of amazement. "Ah, is there something on my face?"

Eadywn coughs, and the young woman standing next to him laughs. "No, "she says cheerfully. "We were expectin' the new scribe to be a bit older, is all. And maybe more organized than the last one?"

Eadwyn interrupts her, clearing his throat. "Erm, right. I'm Eadwyn, as I may've mentioned, and Master Sigbert sent me t'show you around town."

"And the others?" Arturia interjects, although she believes the woman's earlier statement explains the presence of the other four.

"Ah... " Eadwyn looks embarrassed. "They're my friends, well, some of 'em, anyway. They tagged along to see the new scribe. This is my betrothed, Osthryth." The young woman smiles at Arturia. "The young lass there is my sister, Ceolwin." He gestures at a girl several years his junior fidgeting with something behind him. "Next to her is Emma, her fellow 'prentice, they're both apprenticed to my mother, who's a weaver, you see... and the lad there is her brother Osric." Arturia smiles at the girls. The younger one smiles back shyly, but the elder one refuses to meet her eyes.

"Well, I hope I've not made too much of a muddle out of that!" Eadwyn continues blithely. Arturia nods slowly, committing faces and names to memory. "Right, then. Would you care for some breakfast?" He laughs as Arturia's face lights up. "Father thought you might, seein' as you'd've had no time to find anything yesterday. Catch!"

Arturia catches the object he tosses her reflexively, and eyes it curiously. It appears to be bread, but is too heavy. She takes a hesitant bite, and finds that it there are chunks of meat baked in. Eadwyn and his friends watch in amazement as she rapidly devours the entire thing, then licks the crumbs from her fingers. Arturia turns her attention back to her guide. "Do you have anything to drink?"

He blinks at her for a moment. "Ah, right. Ceolwin." The smaller girl steps forward and hands Arturia a wooden mug, wide-eyed, then scampers back to hide behind her brother, who laughs. Arturia immediately raises the mug to her lips, and is pleasantly surprised to find it filled with cool, sweet cider. "Well, Arthur, now that you're fed, shall we see about showin' you around town?"

Arturia wipes the last of the cider from her mouth. "Please." She pulls the door to her quarters shut behind her.

Eadwyn takes three steps along the street, then stops and turns to the four following them. "You lot have work to do! Ceolwin, Emma, I know Mother gave you permission to come meet the new scribe, but now you've met him. Back to work with you." He turns the younger boy. "Osric, you too. I don't know what excuse you're planning to give Master Piada. Get going, and if you're lucky, I won't tell him where you were this morning."

The younger boy gulps audibly and turns to run down the street. The two girls watch him go.

"See you at dinner, Brother!" Ceolwin waves to Eadwyn as she walks away. Emma, however, gives him a serious look.

"Please don't tell Master Piada that Osric came with us to meet the new scribe, Eadwyn. Father will beat him again if he finds out." Without waiting for a reply, she follows Ceolwin, leaving an uncomfortable silence behind her.

"The scribe's duties?" Arturia asks finally.

"Oh! Well, I can only tell you what Ubric used to do," Eadwyn answers. "Father asked me to show you around town, this morning, then bring you by for dinner so he can explain your duties in more detail. He's been busy trying to fix Mother's loom. Uh, he said you're welcome t'join us every day for breakfast and dinner. Ubric always did; he said Mother's cooking's the best in town. If you want something for supper, you can stop by the inn and get leftovers from Caelin. It's part of what the town trades the scribe for their services. Come on, if we don't get started, we'll be late for dinner!"

As Eadwyn walks down the street toward the town square, Arturia is left gaping at his ability to rapidly switch topics. Osthryth giggles at her expression. "He's always like that. You'll get used to it, though." She pushes Arturia after Eadwyn. "Move it, Arthur. I don't want to miss one of Gode's dinners!"

~~~CotD~~~

Dinner with Eadwyn's family was a lively experience. The food was plentiful, if plain. Arturia thought wryly as she ate that no food in Britain can be anything but plain compared to the food that Shirou, Sakura, and Rin could cook. There was bread fresh from the baker, moist and steaming when she broke it open, and thick mutton stew with a great variety of vegetables. Arturia had done her best to simply eat and stay quiet, and the others had made no effort to draw her into the conversation.

Sigbert and Eadwyn, who Arturia determined from the conversation was following in his father's footsteps as an artificer, had mostly ignored the other three at the table in favor of arguing about the design of the loom they were attempting to repair for Gode. Gode and Ceolwin discussed weaving, fabrics, and patterns in increasingly technical terminology that Arturia could not follow. Her surface knowledge of science and engineering at least let her understand the conversation between the men, but the conversation between the women was beyond her. Emma, also an apprentice under Gode, was the only one Arturia could talk to, but she ignored Arturia's few half-hearted attempts to start a conversation. Eventually Arturia gave up applied herself to her food, although she did catch Emma staring at her a few times. Arturia reasoned that is was likely due to her refined table manners being a poor fit for the simple table.

With a last swallow of cider, Arturia leans back from the table, replete for the first time since at least the night before the final battle with Mordred. Her army had celebrated the impending battle as the end of their fighting, one way or another. The war against Mordred's army had followed a long campaign in Gaul, and they had all been tired. Thinking about it now, she realizes that her memory is muddled by her time as a servant. Although she has memories of eating and resting with Shirou, her body has been pushed to its limits by many sequential battles. In that light, her slow recovery from her wounds, even with Avalon's magic, makes more sense to her. As she considers this, she realizes that it is a great relief to her to be able to eat in relaxed company like this.

As soon as he finishes eating, Sigbert stands up.

"Well, then, I'll take over with Arthur from here," he announces. "I've got to tell him the details of his job while I've got a chance. Eadwyn, you can try to prove your point by fixing the loom while I'm out." Ignoring his son's spluttered protests about that not being enough time, he pushes Arturia out the door, leaving the women to clean up.

"First thing to do is to stop by your room to pick up some things you'll need," Sigbert says as they step onto the street. "Can you find your way back there from here?"

"Of course," Arturia responds confidently. Even though Eadwyn's disorganized tour started at her door and ended at Sigbert's, she is certain she can find her way back. She is used to keeping track of her allies and enemies on a battlefield. Managing the relative distances and directions of the points of interest in a town is a simple matter for her, and the town of Trekern is not even the size of Fuyuki's residential district. "This way," she points, but sets off without waiting for confirmation.

"Very good," Sigbert says with a smile. "Now, I'm sure Eadwyn told you about the town's arrangement to feed you. He's always hungry, so that sort of thing would have struck him as important." Arturia nods emphatically, and Sigbert laughs. "Well, I guess he's not the only one. We eat breakfast as soon as they sun's up, so you'll have to get up earlier than today if you don't want to miss it."

He pulls Arturia down a small alley. "This way is faster. Now, in exchange for room and board, you're responsible for all business matters in Trekern. That means contracts and correspondence, including apprentice contracts. Anything personal is your own business, and you can take what you like in trade for it. Just make sure to take enough to at least replace any supplies you use. You'll be expected to keep track of what you use and whether it was used on personal or professional business. If you need references for how to write a contract, Ubric kept the ones he wrote around somewhere. You should learn the general forms of them as soon as you can. Here we are."

Arturia notes with a little surprise that they have arrived at the back of the inn. She had thought it was a longer walk, and corrects her mental map of the town.

"Go on in and pick up what you'll need. Quills, inks, papers and parchments'd be my guess, and Ubric had a block of wood he used to use to write on when he was working outside. You sit outside in the square in fair weather, but in deference to the paper and ink, Caelin will reserve a table for you in bad weather. Let's go get you set up. I'll keep you company for as long as I can, but I'll have to get back before Eadwyn breaks the loom worse than it already is." As soon as Arturia finishes collecting what she estimates she'll need for the afternoon, Sigbert hurries her out the door and around the inn to the town square.

~~~CotD~~~

Arturia curses under her breath as she pricks her thumb again with the needle. Not for the first time, she wishes that she had more aptitude in the domestic arts. She had prioritized acquisition of a sewing needle as soon as she had discovered that the previous scribe had not owned one. The majority of the clothes he left behind are in fair condition, as she had discovered upon examining them, but were far too big for her. She finds it somewhat distasteful, but it is easier to alter the dead man's clothes to fit her than it was to acquire clothing in her size. Although all knights learned to use a needle for making field repairs to equipment during their time as a squire, Arturia had never had any particular talent for it, and as king she had not been called upon to practice her needlework. Now that she has the tools, she has spent every evening for the last week refreshing her skills with some urgency. The clothes she wore under her armor were the only ones she brought with her, and until she has others that fit, she cannot launder them.

She ties off the thread and shakes out the pair of pants on her lap to examine her handiwork. The length seems about right, but she grimaces at the sloppy stitching. 'It is serviceable,' she thinks, then reaches for the pile beside her. 'A shirt. I am half done.' Arturia had decided the best plan was to do all the pants first, hoping that by the time she finished with the less-visible alterations of hemming the legs and taking in the waist, her stitching would have improved. 'Well, I have certainly gotten much better,' she thinks, recalling her first efforts, 'but I will have to be more careful. It would be shameful to be seen in public with such crude work.' With a sigh, she stands up and holds the shirt to her torso, trying to decide how best to make it wearable. 'This is almost a tunic on me.' Her thought is annoyed, but she brightens immediately. 'This will work to my benefit. I will simply shorten the sleeves and take in the neck slightly. Loose, baggy clothing will assist me in concealing my sex.'

Content with that thought, she applies herself to the needle and thread again, taking extra care with her stitches.

~~~CotD~~~

Arturia darts through the door of the inn, slamming it shut behind her. On days like this she almost wishes there were a connecting door between her room and the rest of the inn. She shakes water off herself with a grimace and carefully sets down the oilskin-wrapped bundle in her arms. Outside the inn, a late autumn storm rages, and Arturia is thankful for the fine waterproof hooded cloak she received from the clothier in exchange for penning and reading letters to and from his cousin further north. The two mostly discussed business, making their lengthy notes back and forth tedious to read and to write, but it was worth it to stay dry in this weather. After hanging her cloak, she carefully unwraps her bundle and makes herself comfortable near the fire. However, she doubts that she will have much business in this weather.

"Arthur!" Caelin greets her with an amused tone. "I wasn't expecting to see you today. This weather's enough to keep any reasonable man indoors."

Arturia smiles in response. "Truly, Caelin? Did you expect me to sit in that room all day and listen to the rain?"

"Of course not," the innkeeper chuckles. "I expected your stomach to drive you here no later than noon, if you were unwilling to brave the weather to walk all the way to Gode's table." She nods with a smile, acknowledging his point.

"So you think I will not risk a little rain for dinner, rather than suffer through your burnt porridge again?"she fires back. It is common knowledge in the village that Caelin feels some culinary rivalry with the woman, and that Gode does not acknowledge it. "Besides, it will be impossible for Eni to keep bread dry while bringing it here."

The innkeeper shrugs, resigned. "Not like there will be anyone here to eat most of it. You're the only one crazy enough to come out in this weather." He sits across from Arturia. "Speaking of Eni, I'd like to make a request. I'm not sure what I can offer you, but I want a contract for him."

Arturia raises an eyebrow. "What sort of contract? For most, all that is required is paper and ink."

The man clears his throat. "A betrothal contract. To Osmond's daughter, Nerienda. The two of them are friends, and we both think they'll not mind it. It's security for both families, right? Eni needs an apprenticeship, and Osmond only has the one daughter, and his wife died giving birth to her. So Nerienda gets a husband, and Eni gets a trade. And Arthur gets an ostler. You've met Arthur, right? I don't think I ever introduced you."

"Ah, no. I mean, yes. We have met." Arturia is used to Caelin's rambling after seeing him almost every day for the past two months. He will cheerfully chatter on about the weather, the produce from the farms, the day's stew or porridge, or his family. She found him a valuable wellspring of information in her early days while settling in. "He said you named him after the king."

"Aye, that I did. He was born just a few days after we heard about King Arthur's victory at Badon Hill." He smiles as he recalls it. "We had been celebrating for days, and maybe I was a bit drunk, but I can't say as Arthur's ever minded the name. My son, not the king," he clarifies.

'The king does not mind it either,' Arturia thinks to herself, amused. 'Although she would prefer not to be reminded of that battle.'  
"It doesn't look like King Mark will be winning any more great battles against the Saxons," Caelin continues. "I'm glad we've got peace now, but I'm not sure how I feel about making peace with those that killed so many Britons, eh?"

Arturia is taken aback by the question. "I am of mixed feelings about it as well. Peace is valuable, but I am not certain if it is worth the price. I do not believe the Saxons will honor this truce if it should profit them to break it.

Caelin does not respond, and an uncomfortable silence settles in. "And the details of the contract?" Arturia prompts, trying to change the subject.

"Oh, right. Err, let's see. Eni son of Caelin, will marry Nerienda daughter of Osmond, when both have come of age. The dowry will be the waiving of Eni's 'prentice fee. Osmond will take him and teach him." He pauses. "Am I missing anything?"

"That is sufficient," Arturia answers after a moment of thought. "Bring Osmond, and you can have it written and sealed now."

"You want me to go out in that and get him?" Caelin asks incredulously.

"I consider that fair trade for writing a short contract." Arturia says decisively. "Unless you would rather pay me in ale and cider?"

"I'll get Osmond," Caelin offers quickly. "Just wait here." With that, he hurries out into the torrential rain, leaving Arturia alone with her thoughts.

~~~CotD~~~

Arturia shivers as she hurries back toward Trekern. She pulls her thick woolen cloak closer about her body, tugging it over the hilt of her sword. The wind is cold, and the sweat on her body makes it feel colder. She looks ahead, narrowing her eyes against the wind, and sighs. Her breath mists, although it is barely visible in the dark. 'Still another half hour at this pace,' she thinks with dismay. 'It is getting too cold for me to keep doing this.'

She rolls her shoulders as she walks, trying to keep her muscles from stiffening in the cold. Since she settled in, she has been sneaking out at night to the moor to exercise and maintain her familiarity with the sword. It is not an ideal situation, but she feels it is better than nothing. Fear of injury limits her to jogging carefully on the road out and back, and swinging her sword in place to maintain muscle tone. She does not wish to risk spraining an ankle in the dark.

Now, the onset of winter makes brings the risk of catching a chill, and any snowfall would make stealth impossible. 'My sword will have to rest until spring. By then, my calluses from the sword may have been replaced by calluses from the quill,' Arturia thinks with some dismay. 'Although I can manage some exercise, there is not space inside my room to swing a sword.'

Her late-night exercise has been one of the highlights of the past few months for Arturia. She still feels somewhat out of place amongst the townsfolk, and her concealment of her identity weighs on her conscience. The nights she slips away to repeat the practiced motions she learned in her childhood are the only times she feels she is truly herself. As the days grow shorter, she worries that she will lose a part of herself over the long winter when she has no escape from being Arthur the Scribe.

~~~CotD~~~

Arturia hands shake from the cold as she carries her scribe's paraphernalia to the town square. The morning sun barely warms her and the wind keeps tugging her cloak open, but she has no hand free to hold it shut. 'I should work in the inn today, too,' she thinks. 'My fingers will be too chilled to write if I spend the day outside.' Thus resolved, she hugs the wall of the inn as she hurries around the building, trying to take some shelter from the wind.

She pushes the door open with her foot as soon as reaches it and rushes inside, kicking it closed behind her to cut off the wind. With a sigh of relief, she sets her bundle down and huddles next to the fire, holding out her hands to warm them. As she defrosts, Arturia notes that she is the only person in the main room of the inn. 'Caelin must be out, but he was already in to start the fire.' As soon as her hands have warmed, she spreads out her stacks of paper and parchment and begins preparing her inks and quills.

A burst of cold air sends her scrambling to keep her valuable supplies from blowing to the floor, or worse, into the fire. Holding down her precious vellum, she turns to glare at whoever is holding the door open and letting the winter chill into the inn. Her anger is quickly replaced by confusion when she sees a dozen men from the town, and several more she does not recognize, carrying and rolling in barrels and kegs. She watches, bemused, as they all hurry back out into the cold as soon as they've moved their burdens away from the door. Another group enters as soon as the first has left. As the morning passes, half the space in the room is filled, and Caelin is left standing alone in front of the collection, arms crossed and exuding satisfaction.

Arturia coughs quietly in an effort to avoid startling Caelin, who seems to be unaware of her presence, but as she does, the door swings open again, and Sigbert backs in, yelling to someone outside. She cannot make out what he is saying, but as he turns toward the innkeeper, Eadwyn runs through the door and slams it shut with a sigh of a relief. He hands his father something to his father and hurries toward the fire. Arturia cannot see from this distance what he was doing, but she does notice that he seems to have forgotten his cloak.

"Hullo again, Arthur," Eadwyn mutters as he throws himself onto the floor in front of the fire. "Wasn't expecting to see you again so soon after breakfast."

Arturia nods to acknowledge his greeting. "What are you doing here, and without your cloak?"

"Father made a new blend of mulling spices, and left to convince Caelin to try it out. Of course, he was so excited to talk about it that he left without them, so I ran after him to remind him. By the time I caught up with him, he was most of the way here, though," Eadwyn shrugs, "I decided I might as well come in and warm up." He looks up at Arturia. "What are you doing here, though, Arthur? And with your inks and pens, too."

Arturia gives him a blank stare, and his eyes widen.

"You didn't know? Tomorrow's the solstice! The festival starts today and ends the day after! What did you think all this was for?" He gestures expansively at the casks lined up along the walls of the inn. "Nobody will be doing any work until it's over."

Arturia blinks him and cocks her head. "Then..."

Eadwyn nods emphatically. "Go put that stuff away and meet me back here. I've got to run home and get my cloak, so just wait out front for me." Without waiting for a response, he climbs to his feet and heads for the door. Eadwyn visibly braces himself against the cold before opening the door and darting outside.

Arturia begins slowly packing up her things. 'A solstice festival, is it? It has been a long time. I have not attended one since Kay and I snuck away to see one the summer before he was knighted.' She smiles in reminiscence, but her smile quickly dims. 'Ector was furious. I thought he was going to have us both whipped.' She shrugs philosophically. 'There is no reason I cannot enjoy this one. Except for the cold, of course.' With a shiver, Arturia slips out the door as someone opens it, noting in passing that it's another face she does not recognize, and rushes toward the back of the inn to deposit her burden.

Eager to be back in the relative warmth of the sunlit square, she wastes no time on the walk, although she does linger in her quarters, enjoying the warmth radiated by the wall shared with the inn. She resists the temptation to wrap herself in her blankets and nap, and arrives back at the front of the inn only a few minutes after she left. Eadwyn is nowhere in sight, but she takes the opportunity to observe the crowd of strangers. Most of them are clearly peasants from the surrounding farm villages, but a few seem to be better dressed. 'Perhaps travelers, or traders,' she speculates, but makes no move to investigate.

After several minutes of waiting, however, she is cursing Eadwyn for asking her to wait outside and is considering moving back into the inn. She puts aside that thought when she notices out of the corner of her eye someone gesture toward her. Curious, she moves slightly closer to listen. Her years as King taught her how important it is to be aware of the gossip and rumors surrounding her.

"-the new scribe? Ain't he too young for that?" The voice is female, and the figure speaking is looking back over her shoulder at Arturia.

"Ain't he too comely, y'mean?" a second girl laughs. "I thought he'd be old an' wrinkled like th' last one, eh?"

"He's a scrawny bit, too. Look't him shiver!" the first girl replies.

"I'm of half a mind t'go offer t'warm him up," the third girl, who had been silently staring at Arturia, interjects.

"Aye, I'd not mind takin' that one for a tumble in th' hay!"

"You'd not mind tumblin' anythin' that's warm an' movin', Acha! Though he's certainly pretty enough, and that hair!"

The three girls dissolve into laughter, and Arturia feels her face beginning to flush. 'I am relieved that their interest was not founded on anything malicious, but this is unseemly!'

Arturia begins to sidle back toward the inn, determined to retreat with dignity.

"I heard from my cousin in town that he's a noble's get. That'd explain the good looks, eh?"

"Who cares about his looks! He's a scribe, ain't he? I'm more keen on what he can do with his talented fingers!"

"I'd say the size of his quill's more important than that!"

Arturia turns away, blushing furiously, and bolts for the door to the inn, but runs straight into someone.

"Oof!" Eadwyn stumbles back and reaches out to steady Arturia. "What's the rush, Arthur?"

Arturia flinches away from his hand and sputters incoherently.

"The village girls were havin' some sport of him, although I don't think they meant him to hear," a voice answers from behind Arturia, and she turns to see Osric leaning against the wall of the inn. "Not sure what's got you so flustered though," he says teasingly, "Pretty face like that and your noble blood... You must've tumbled plenty of girls back in your home town, eh?"

"What? No, I never-!" Arturia feels her face reddening again and bites off the rest of the sentence. With a huff, she turns back to Eadwyn. "What took you so long?"

In answer, he bursts out laughing. Arturia glares at him.

"I fail to see what is so amusing."

"You! Ah, no, wait." He takes a deep breath to compose himself. "You always act like such an old man, it was funny to see you acting as a kid... I guess?"

"I act like an old man?" she demands.

It is Osric who answers her. "You're so serious all the time, eh? Like everything's a matter of life and death. You gotta learn to lighten up. Come on," he raises his voice, "I think Emma's about ready to stop hiding around the corner, so as soon as she and Ceolwin join us, we can go start enjoying this festival!" There is a startled "Eep!" from the corner of the inn, and Osric winks at Arturia as Emma stumbles out from behind the building, looking chagrined. Ceolwin saunters after her and pushes her forward again. Emma catches herself on the wall, and Ceolwin steps past her to hug her brother.

"Is Osthryth coming?"

"Nope, sorry." Eadwyn ruffles her hair. "She's lookin' after the little ones. Don't look so sad about it, you know she loves taking care of them."

"Yeah, I know," Ceolwin nods.

"Right then," Eadwyn declares, "enough standing around in the cold. Let's go try some of that mulled cider Father made." He pulls his sister into the inn without waiting a response, and Arturia follows him, happy to get out of the cold again.

~~~CotD~~~

"'Scuse me," a hesitant voice interrupts Arturia's cloud-watching. She pushes herself into a sitting positions and looks up at the lanky young man standing next her.

"Can I assist you?" she asks hopefully. Today has been a slow day for her, and the prospect of something to do is more exciting than she thinks it should be. Her services were in great demand with coming of spring, but in the time since, requests for her skills have tapered off significantly. Now, she estimates that she has two or three slower days each week.

"Yer Arthur the scribe?"

"Yes."

"I'd like t'hire you..." He trails off, fidgeting with a piece of paper in his hands.

"For personal business, I take it?" She judges him too young and too nervous to be here on business, unless it was at his master's command. As her requested her service for himself, she feels confident in assuming it is personal.

"Ah, yes. Here." He offers her folded paper, but as soon as her fingers touch it, he snatches it back. "Um, you keep things quiet, right? Ubric never spread 'round what was in my letters."

Arturia nods, trying not to feel offended by the question. She is young and relatively new to the job, she tells herself, and it is not unreasonable to ask. "I assure you I am perfectly discrete. Unless you are plotting murder or some other crime, I will not speak of the contents of any correspondence I read or transcribe."

"Murder?" The young man steps back with a yelp, paling. "I, no- I'd never-!"

"I am sorry," Arturia interrupts, "It was a joke. You seemed uncomfortable." She frowns. 'Caelin thought it was funny. I wonder if his sense of humor or my understanding of it is mistaken.'

"Oh." He scratches his head.

With a sigh, Arturia stands up. She notes with some irritation that the top of her head does not even reach his shoulders. "May I ask your name and the nature of your business?" she asks a bit stiffly.

"Letters. Bertwald. I mean, m'name's Bertwald and my business's letters. That is, readin' and writin' 'em. You'd be readin' and writin' 'em. Readin' what's in 'em and tellin' me, and writin' what I tell you to write back." He trails off, looking uncomfortable as Arturia just stares at him, bemused.

"You want me to read letters to you and write your responses, correct?" she clarifies.

"Yup!" Bertwald hands her the paper. "They're all I hear from my Leofrun back home. We send 'em by merchants and tinkers, but she has t'wait for a travelin' scribe t'read 'em. There's only a few a year. Since I'm just a journeyman mason. I can't afford to write much, but since I can't see her 'til I finish my 'prenticeship..." He trails off, looking sad.

"I understand." Arturia feels a sudden rush of sympathy for him. "You will have to provide for the materials, but I will waive any addition fees. In exchange, though, I will only be able to help you when I have no other work. Is this acceptable?" At his nod, she unfolds the letter and begins to read.

"Dearest Bertwald... I hope you are well. The winter was very cold, but everyone here survived. This letter will be sent with the first thaw-" Arturia stops reading and looks sharply at Bertwald. 'The first thaw was over a month ago.' He fidgets uncomfortably under her stare, and she decides to let is pass. "I have begun looking for a place to build our home. There's a nice spot by the creek we used to play at..."

~~~CotD~~~

"Havin' a slow day, Arthur, eh?"

Arturia squints up against the glare of the sun, trying not to move out of her meager shade.

"Ah, yes. Good day, Osric. Hello, Emma."

"'Lo," Osric nods and waves vaguely as he slouches against the wall next to Arturia, taking refuge from the hot summer sun in the shadow of the building.

"Hello, Arthur," Emma responds quietly, with a small smile. She presses her back against the relatively cool stone of the wall with an audible sigh of relief.

"It has been very slow. I think nobody wishes to endure this heat," Arturia offers in explanation. "What brings you two here?"

"Not much," Osric responds. Emma elbows him in the ribs. "Uff. It was a joke!" He rubs theatrically at his side. "Eadwyn and Osthyrth are finally movin' into their new place today, Arthur. So we've got the job've invitin' all their friends over t'celebrate, eh? Be there around sunset; it'll be your last time to see 'em for a while. They're gonna be busy settlin' in." He pushes himself off the wall. "I'll go find t'other Arthur. See you at home, Emma," he says over his shoulder as he saunters out into the heat.

"Osric!" Emma calls after her brother in irritation. "I hate it when he does that!" She turns to Arturia. "Well, I guess that's all?"

"Will they truly be so busy settling into their new home?" Arturia asks before the other girl can leave.

"Aye," Emma agrees sadly. "It's a lot of work, and they're hoping to start a family, I'm sure," she says somewhat wistfully.

Arturia makes quiet noise of agreement. 'A family, is it? I surrendered the possibility of having a family when I drew Caliburn from the stone. The king certainly could not take a husband, after all. And the one son I did have tried to kill me... But now, I could... A family with Shirou?' She indulges herself in imagining it. 'I dare not hope!' She shakes her head, blushing slightly, then reddens even more when she notices Emma is staring at her. "I apologize. I was lost in thought."

"It's okay!" Emma says quickly. "I was, too." Now she blushes, too. "I'll see you tonight!" Without waiting for a response, she runs out into the sunlight, leaving Arturia nonplussed behind her.

~~~CotD~~~

"Arthur?"

Arturia looks up from cleaning and packing away her quills at the sound of her assumed name. She glances around the emptying town center. Emma is standing in front of her, fidgeting. Standing out of earshot behind her is Osric, who glares at her when he catches her eye. Arturia rises to her feet.

"About yesterday..." Emma continues, taking Arturia's attention and silence as acknowledgment. "You seemed jealous at the party last night. Ah, no! Not jealous!" She waves her hands in front of her as if to wave away her previous words. "You were woolgatherin' most've the evenin', and it seemed like every time Eadwyn or Osthryth spoke to you, you'd clam up. Aggh, I'm making a muddle of this!" She groans in frustration and looks back at her brother.

'I thought I had hidden it well enough, but if Emma noticed, perhaps the others did as well,' Arturia frets to herself. 'I hope I was not rude. It was difficult to be surrounded by such happiness that I cannot take part in. I was truly happy for them, but lately it is as if every small thing sends my thoughts back to Japan.'

"-Osric to ask you, but he said t'ask you myself. Hey, Arthur, are you listening?" Arturia starts guiltily. Emma frowns. "You're doin' it again! Please pay attention, Arthur. This's important!" She takes a deep breath. "Y'seem to want a family, so I was wonderin' why you've not asked me t'be your wife, Arthur. Y'seem to like me well enough, and I certainly like you," she continues in a rush, "so what is it?"

"Ah..." Arturia's mind goes blank. She gapes at Emma, unable to formulate a response. 'I was foolish!' she berates herself. 'No, stupid. I should have foreseen this. Men are expected to marry, settle down, start families. It was a mistake to think I could simply live like this forever. Of course Emma would wonder why I have expressed no interest! How could I be so naive?'

Emma backs away from Arturia as the silence lengthens without response. Finally, with a sob, she turns and flees. Arturia, caught up in self-recriminations, does not notice. Nor does she notice when Osric approaches her. His punch takes her completely by surprise, and she stumbles backward. His quick catch at her shoulder keeps her from falling, but his grip is too painful to be misconstrued as assistance.

"What was that, Arthur?" he growls. "You couldn't at least turn 'er down gently?"

"No, that is..." Arturia struggles to gather her scattered wits. "I never noticed that she regarded me that way." She turns away, refusing to meet Osric's eyes.. "I was startled, and too busy thinking myself a fool to think to respond." Arturia tenses, expecting another blow. She stumbles when Osric releases her with a push. She looks at him in confusion.

"Aye, you're a damn fool, eh?" Osric sighs heavily and visibly relaxes. "Y'can still go after her and explain." He steps to the side and gestures in the direction Emma ran. "I'm sure she'll forgive you."

Arturia shakes her head at his misunderstanding. "Osric, I do not love your sister. She is a good friend, but my heart is for another." She holds up her hand to forestall his protests. "Before I came here, I was forced to leave behind my..." She trails off, unsure of how to describe her relationship with Shirou.

Osric grunts. "Emma's the one y'need to tell that to, not me. Still, must be some woman, if y'still don't even think 'bout other girls, eh?"

"Ah, yes, Shiro was..." she trails off. 'I cannot talk about Shirou! That would draw too much attention, or risk revealing that I am a woman!' She thinks frantically for a way out of the situation.

"Shiro? Strange name," Osric says noncommittally. "You were sayin' she was somethin'?"

"Ah... Shirou was... very beautiful, but her personality was the most striking thing about her. She tried so hard to be gentle and refined, but she was in truth very clumsy. She had a strong sense of justice, and was very passionate about her beliefs. However, she did not think that was appropriate for who she wanted to be, so she tried to hide it behind her cold mannerisms."

'What am I _doing_?' she thinks with disbelief as her mouth continues without her consent. 'That is not Shirou, that is Rin!'

"She sounds like a troublesome woman, this Shirou of yours." Osric frowns, then shrugs. "I'll tell Emma y'don't hate her, but you'd best apologize to her yourself tomorrow, or I'll punch you again, eh?" Without waiting for a response, he turns and walks away, leaving Arturia dazed behind him. She stares after Osric until he is out of sight, then snatches up her things and hurries back to her quarters.

~~~CotD~~~

Arturia slams the door of her quarters shut behind her and slumps against it. "What was I thinking?" she berates herself aloud, thumping her head back against the solid wood. 'That was foolish! I came far too close to saying something I must not.' With a sigh, she steps away from the door to put away her things. She wonders if perhaps she is getting too comfortable in her new home, but she cannot bring herself to feel that it is a bad thing. She values the relative tranquility she has found, and is content with it. With a frown, Arturia notes as she cleans her quills that her hands are shaking slightly. 'This is... fear of losing my place here?'

As soon as she finishes the maintenance of the tools of her most recent trade, she bars the door to begin the maintenance of the tools of her previous trade. Settling herself on the floor with her armor and weapons to her side, she selects a soft, relatively clean rag from her pile of cloth scraps and picks up her sword to begin. The familiar routine is comforting, and she lets herself become absorbed in the mundane task. Her racing heart slows as the fear fades, and she mentally reviews the conversation with Emma and the confrontation with Osric as she works.

"Ah... I certainly must apologize to Emma." She shakes her head, dismayed by her reaction. 'Gaping stupidly is not a response to a lady's advances suitable for a knight.' She puts down her rag as she finishes the back of her plate armor, and touches her cheek carefully. 'Osric has a strong punch. This will be swollen tomorrow.' She moves her jaw experimentally. 'I will have to find some excuse. To explain why Osric punched me would impinge upon Emma's honor.'

She lifts her breastplate into her lap and picks up the rag again. Safe in her room with the door soundly barred, she feels her tension ease. However, something about her last thought nags at her. "A lady's honor..." she mumbles, thinking. "Ah! I am sorry, Rin!" She flushes with shame. Falsely claiming a relationship with a lady is behavior unbecoming of a knight, and she had certainly claimed one with Rin in all but her name. Yet, Arturia does not think the magus would have minded. 'It was for a good cause. And... it is not entirely untrue.' Her flush deepens, and she shakes her head. 'She would have demanded payment though, I do not doubt.' Arturia wonders idly what the other girl would have done in her situation, but the thought brings with it a wave of longing.

'I want to see all of them again, not just Shirou,' she realizes. 'I miss Shirou the most,' she thinks, feeling her cheeks warm again, 'but I also miss the others. Taiga's refreshingly outgoing and honest nature... Sakura's quiet strength... I would have liked to get to know them better. Illyasviel von Einzbern... The daughter of Iri and that man... I would have been happier if she was never our enemy. The time she spent at Shirou's house was almost like being with Iri again. Rin... I am glad she was not our enemy. Had I not been a Servant, I think I could have called her a friend.'

Arturia smiles sadly to herself. 'I have lived here for a year, and yet I am homesick for a place that was only my home for a few days.' Yet she does not find it strange. Shirou, Rin, and Illya knew who and what she was, and accepted her anyway. 'Is that why I do not feel happy here, despite having made many friends?' she wonders. 'Is it impossible, while keeping such secrets? Still, the quiet happiness of the people here... I wish everyone could experience it.'

With a yawn, Arturia sets aside the last of her armor and stands, stretching to ease the stiff muscles in her back. She carefully hides her armor under the rags in the corner of the room. Her fingers trail lingeringly over the engravings and delicate tracery on Avalon as she sets it and her sword down against the wall by her pallet. Yawning again, she blows out the candle lighting her room, and crawls gratefully into her bed.

~~~CotD~~~

"Arthur, y'busy?"

Arturia opens her eyes and bites back a sarcastic response. She think it should be obvious that she is not engaged, as she has been spending the afternoon napping in the sunlight. Although she spent the morning writing until her hand cramped, there has been only a single request for her services since she returned from dinner. However, she reminds herself that the young man standing over her is scrupulously polite, and simply shakes her head as she sits up.

"I am unoccupied, Bertwald." She accepts his offered hand and lets him pull her to her feet. "Has another letter arrived from Leofrun?"

Bertwald shakes his head sadly. "I've not heard from 'er since midsummer."

"I see." She looks at him quizzically. "Was there something else you needed?"

"No," he says, and clears his throat. "I'm sorry, Arthur. I overheard yesterday." Arturia grunts noncommittally and waits for him to continue. "Is that th' reason you're helpin' me for free? 'Cause you've got a lass waitin' for you back home?"

"Yes," she admits. "Although, I do not believe she would ever expect to see me again. The people I left behind when I came here have no reason to believe I am still alive."

Bertwald seems taken aback by her stoic admission. He turns away from her and coughs. "It's hard, ain't it? Leavin' 'em behind. Leofrun cried when I left," he says slowly, "and I have t'admit I cried too." His voice is hesitant, and Arturia realizes it is a difficult thing for him to admit to.

"I shed tears, also," Arturia responds quietly, "when I realized I would have to leave. There is very little I would not give to be able to send a single letter to the ones I left behind." Bertwald spins around, wide-eyed. "It is my pleasure to assist you, Bertwald."

"I- thank you, Arthur!" he says thickly. "If there's anythin' I can do t'help you..." He trails off, looking frustrated.

Arturia shakes her head. "You have helped already. Aiding another who is suffering the same pain eases my own, somehow."

Bertwald bows his head. "Thank you again, Arthur."

Arturia smiles slightly. "As I said, it is my pleasure."

'So this is what it feels like,' she thinks as he walks away with a wave, 'to have my efforts to help people welcomed. Shirou, I think I am beginning to understand.'


	4. Chapter 4

Fate/stay night and Fate/zero are the property of TYPE-MOON. This story is a work of fanfiction, and the author makes no claim to these properties. Some lines of dialogue have been excerpted from the above works in their entirety in this fanfiction. They are from the translations by mirror-moon and Baka-Tsuki, respectively.

Please thank Mashadar, Kyadytim, Da-Guru and ttestagr for prereading this for me. Their contributions significantly improved this chapter. Any typographical mistakes remaining are most likely results of the author making changes at the eleventh hour and not soliciting proper feedback.

I apologize for the time it to me to publish this. It took a lot of work, reworking, and editing and was beset on all sides by delays. Thank you for your patience.

* * *

**Continuation of the Dream**

**Part One: Waking from the Dream**

**IV**

Arturia grimaces at the ledger in her lap and rubs her eyes with her free hand. The crabbed handwriting on the pages swims in her vision, and she closes her eyes with a sigh. The merchant who commissioned her to copy his records last week was literate, a rare and valuable skill for a merchant. Unfortunately, his handwriting is terrible, nearly illegible, and the struggle to decipher it slows her work considerably. She would have preferred to refuse the commission, but it is her contribution to the town's trade for supplying the scribe. She truly wishes she had had the freedom to refuse. The fact that he set a tight deadline so that he could pick up the original and the copy at his convenience adds to her irritation. It is bad enough, she thinks, to have to suffer through his scribbles in small doses, but the pressure to get it done on time forces her to spend almost all day on it every day.

"Arthur!" An excited shout shocks her from her reverie, and she jerks to her feet, her hand reaching for the sword she is not carrying. Only her quick reflexes save the ledger and her copy-in-progress from sliding to the ground. Arturia looks around sharply, cursing her persistent habit of reaching for a sword when startled. She sinks back onto her seat on the bench in front of the inn as Bertwald skids to a stop in front of her.

"S-sorry," he pants. "I didn' mean t'startle you."

She waves off his apology and eyes him curiously. "Is something wrong?" Her eyes narrow. "A letter?" Her voice is tense.

Bertwald nods and holds out a folded paper with shaking hands. She takes it from him carefully. This is the first correspondence Bertwald has asked her to read since the end of summer, and he had been clearly worried that he would not hear from his beloved before the onset of winter. Since confiding in her after the incident with Emma, he has opened up to her more. Even though the two of them do not talk frequently, both of them take comfort in the company of another who understands the pain of separation.

"Arthur, you sure you ain't too busy for this?" Bertwald asks. "You're clearly doin' somethin' already. I don't want t' break our agreement."

Arturia glances at the ledger on her lap, then at Bertwald's hopeful expression. "I am not too busy." She unfolds the paper and skims it contents quickly, trying to ignore the fidgeting man in front of her. Carefully, she schools her face into a pleasant expression and gestures to the bench next to her. "Please, have a seat."

Bertwald sits, looking at her eagerly. Arturia swallows, her mouth suddenly gone dry.

"Bertwald," she begins reading, watching him out of the corner of her eye, "I am sorry you have to find out by letter, and it pains me to have to tell you this way. There has been a spate of pox here, Bertwald. It is like nothing we have ever seen before," she continues, struggling to keep her voice dispassionate, "although it seems to have settled down now. There were many deaths, among them my daughter Leofrun." Bertwald makes a choking sound and Arturia stops reading. Disregarding the rest of the letter, she looks at him with concern.

Bertwald is bent almost double, clutching his head. Although Arturia can see his shoulders shaking, he is barely making a sound. Hesitantly, she reaches out to pat his shoulder. He gives no indication that he notices the contact. Instead, he rocks in place, sobbing quietly.

'What would Shirou do in this situation?' she thinks helplessly. 'Surely there must be some words of comfort to ease the loss of a loved one. Yet, all I have are the platitudes I offered the families of my knights, and for them, that was enough. However... there is no honor in death from illness, no service to the country. His lover is gone, and no words can change that.' She looks at the sobbing man beside her. 'This... is not something I can fix.'

Despite their physical proximity, Bertwald remains alone with his grief, and Arturia remains alone with her thoughts.

~~~CotD~~~

"Arthur! Arthur, come quick! Hurry!" Osthryth's panicked shout from outside the inn breaks Arturia's concentration. She leaps to her feet, spilling the papers from her lap. The man across the table from her jumps back with a startled oath, but Arturia has already turned away. She has just reached the door when Osthryth bursts through it, soaked to the skin. Arturia grabs her arm to get her attention, not waiting for the other woman to focus on her.

"What's wrong?" she demands.

"Ow!" Osthryth yelps and Arturia loosens her grip. "It's Sigbert. He collapsed while working! Arthur, come _on_!" She grabs Arturia's wrist and pulls her out the door, leaving the man she had been working for cursing behind her. Arturia does not even have time to brace herself before she enters the torrential downpour. She shakes off Osthryth's hand with the first step, passes her on the third, and is running out of the plaza before the woman behind her has half crossed it. The voice of the man whose work she is leaving behind fails to slow her steps.

Arturia ignores the water soaking through her clothes as she runs through the town and only thinks briefly of her fine waterproof cloak, left to dry by the fire. She has no further attention to spare for anything other than running. Running through the uneven streets is hazardous even in the best conditions. The pouring rain makes the footing even more treacherous, but she still runs as fast as she is able.

She skids to a stop in front of the door to Sigbert's home, and takes one deep breath to compose herself before knocking. 'He most likely just overworked himself again,' she reminds herself. 'He has not fully recovered from his illness this past winter, and his insistence on returning to work as soon as he can has only delayed his recovery.' She knocks once and opens the door without waiting for a reply.

The front of the house is empty, but Arturia can hear low voices from the back. She shakes the water off herself as best she can before proceeding further inside. She pushes aside the curtain separating the bedroom from the rest of the house, and sucks in a breath. Sigbert is motionless on his bed, covered in blankets, and Gode is slumped at his bedside. She steps into the bedroom, fearing that she is too late. She only has time to take in the strange discoloration of Sigbert's face and Gode's shallow breathing before a whisper from behind stops her.

"Arthur!" Arturia spins around. Eadwyn is slumped in a chair by the table, beckoning her away from the bedroom.

"Eadwyn!" Arturia matches his lowered voice, and hurries closer. "Is he..." She trails off, realizing it would be insensitive to ask Eadwyn if his father is dead. "Please, tell me what happened."

"He's not dead," the young man says hoarsely. "I wasn't here." His voice is thick with self-recrimination. "The first I heard about it was when Ceolwin showed up at our house. She said Father had fainted while working, and Mother sent her to fetch me. You know how he's been lately. I figured Mother just wanted me t'help keep him in bed. But Ceolwin said he'd been ravin' when she left, so I thought I might need help. I sent Osthryth t'get you since you're close and easy t'find." He rubs his temples.

"By the time I got here," Eadwyn continues, "Father was quiet, but he's so..." He shakes his head. "Mother's sick too; she fell asleep while takin' care of him. I left 'em to sleep in peace, but..." Eadwyn looks up, eyes bloodshot. "Arthur, I think Father's dyin'. I sent Ceolwin to my house. She shouldn't have t'see this. I'll stay here to help out."

He stops talking, and Arturia watches him with concern. The silence stretches out. Neither of them speaks for several minutes, although Eadwyn shifts uncomfortably under Arturia's steady gaze. Finally he sighs heavily. "Go back t'work, Arthur. There's nothing you can do here. If you see Osthryth, tell her I'll see her tomorrow."

Arturia nods sharply and turns to leave. She stops at the door. "If there is anything I can do, please do not hesitate to call on me." She pauses to wait for a response, but none is given. She braces herself and steps out into the rain.

~~~CotD~~~

Arturia stares into the darkness of her room, unable to sleep. Eadwyn's dismissal and her inability to help him weigh on her mind. 'It is just like back then. I do not know what to do when someone I care about is suffering.' She thinks despondently that it was easier when she was King. That the King would express his sympathies for the death in battle of sons, brothers, fathers, husbands or lovers was a great comfort to many people. Even though she had not the time to speak to the relatives of everyone who had perished while serving Britain under her banner, she had been able to express her sorrow and gratitude in a distant fashion.

But now, even though she can see that her words and presence offer some comfort, she is not satisfied. She feels that it is not enough. 'There must be more I can do.' However, no matter how she tries, she cannot think of anything. 'Am I still unable to comprehend the emotions of others?' Her tired mind latches onto this doubt. Now that she is thinking about it, she is haunted by her failures. 'Emma last summer, Bertwald that autumn, and now Eadwyn... Perhaps it is true, if I have so consistently failed to understand those closest to me... No! Even if all I can offer is the comfort of my presence, I will still do what I can. Tomorrow I will insist Eadwyn let me aid him. Sigbert may not be my father, but he welcomed me here and has been a friend to me in my time here. I do not know if he can be saved, but I will try. The town will survive without its scribe for a day or two.' Arturia closes her eyes and forcibly calms her mind. The sooner she sleeps, the more use she will be tomorrow.

~~~CotD~~~

A desperate banging on her door rouses Arturia. She wakes quickly and scrambles to her feet. The throbbing at her temples and the lack of light coming through the window tell her that it is earlier than usually rises.

"I'm coming!" she calls as roots through her clothing for a clean shirt. She dons it as she stumbles across the room, straightening it as she pulls open the door.

Arturia is surprised to see Ceolwin standing on the street outside her door, hand still raised to continue knocking.

"Ceolwin. What is wrong?" The possibility that nothing is wrong does not even occur to Arturia. Ceolwin does not normally knock on her door, certainly not as frantically as she had, and not before dawn. The younger girl looks at Arturia desperately.

"Help," Ceolwin murmurs, then collapses forward. Arturia stoops to catch her, noticing as she does so that the girl is pale and sweating. Arturia sets her down against the wall of her room and fills her wash basin with water from the pitcher in the corner, as far from the papers by the desk as it can get. "What happened?" she asks as she wipes the sweat from the girl's face with a moistened cloth.

"Osthryth didn't wake up this mornin'." Ceolwin coughs and hunches up, shivering. "I went to find Brother, but nobody answered the door. You're the first to answer." She squeezes Arturia's hand, and Arturia is worried to note that her skin feels uncomfortably hot to the touch. "...hurts, Arthur..."

Arturia searches for a solution as she brushes the sick girl's hair from her face. 'I could care for her, but she is certainly not the only one who is sick. She said no one else answered her knocking, and Osthryth seemed well last night.' She searches her memories and experiences, trying to recall anything about diseases that killed overnight, either in her own time or in the future. However, she finds no answer. ' I need to assess the spread of the illness.' Reaching a decision, Arturia gathers Ceolwin in her arms.

"I will take you to your brother. Please bear with it until then." With a grunt of effort, she stands, finding the girl to be a mostly limp burden. With growing unease, she carefully steps out of her quarters. She stops to close the door, but shakes her head. 'If things are as bad as they seem, the open door will make no difference.'

As Arturia walks through the town, she is struck by how quiet it is. 'Normally there would be people moving about and talking, audible from the street, and early risers going about their business.' She observes with mounting dread that there are no people about, and no signs of activity. When she reaches Sigbert's home, Arturia shifts Ceolwin's weight to her shoulder, wincing as the girl whimpers. She knocks firmly on the door with her free hand, but without much hope. When there is no response, she pushes the door. It does not budge. 'Barred,' she thinks with a grimace. Shifting her weight, she balances carefully on one leg, and kicks the door. It does not budge, and she rebalances herself. Arturia inhales slowly then kicks it again, releasing her energy explosively in a way she has never needed or wanted outside of the battlefield. There is a cracking noise from the door and a heavy thump from inside as the bar breaks and falls away. When she pushes now, the door swings open, pushing the pieces of the bar across the floor.

The first thing she sees as she steps inside is Eadwyn sprawled across the floor. Carefully, she lowers the girl in her arms to the floor. Arturia struggles to remain detached as she notes Ceolwin's terrible fever and the pain any movement seems to cause her. She reminds herself that given Eadwyn's apparent condition and the fact that Osthryth sickened overnight, it most likely already too late for Ceolwin. Although that knowledge saddens her, it reinforces her resolve to leave the girl.

Arturia kneels next to Eadwyn and lifts his arm, pressing her fingers to his wrist to check for a pulse. She lets out a quiet sigh of relief when she feels a faint throb. 'So he is still alive after all.' As she stands, the memory of another time when she held someone's wrist like this, although without taking their pulse, flits through her mind. 'Why am I remembering that now?' Arturia wonders. 'And why did I lie to Rin about that? There was no reason to be ashamed of reaffirming my contract with Shirou. Could it be I was attracted to him even then?' She shakes her head. 'More importantly, this isn't the time for that!'

Moving briskly, Arturia enters the bedroom where she last saw Sigbert and Gode. She freezes as soon as she pushes aside the curtain. There are two bodies laying side by side, their faces covered by their blankets. She pulls aside the blankets with distaste. As the King of Knights, she had more than her fill of exposure to corpses on the battlefield, but she never truly became accustomed to those that died of less violent means. Seeing the bodies of her friends lying there, their faces discolored and covered in sores, fills her with helpless anger.

A sound from the front draws Arturia's attention back to the living. A second moan has her rushing to Ceolwin's side. She kneels, uncertain of what to do. 'I wish to stay and care for her, but... She is unlikely to survive the day, and even if she does... How many others could I save by warning the surrounding villages and rallying them to the aid of the afflicted?' She lifts Ceolwin slightly and moves her away from the door to lie next to her brother. "I am sorry, Ceolwin." She stands and turns away from the two still living people in the room. "Forgive me for this, Eadwyn." She wipes the tears from her eyes before they can fall and steps out the door.

'It was never this difficult when I was king,' she thinks as she runs back toward her quarters. Now that she has decided on a course of action, there should be no room in her mind for hesitation. 'This course of action will surely save more lives, so why does it feel as though I am wrong?' She slows to a stop. 'First, I should confirm the status of this town.' Now that the sun is beginning to rise, Arturia finds the absence of other people on the street increasingly worrisome. She turns to the closest home and knocks firmly on the door.

"Hello?" A weak voice answers her knock from within. "Sebbi, is that you?"

"No, it is Arthur the scribe. May I enter?"

"Arthur?" There is no further response, and Arturia pulls the door open and enters the dwelling.

"Excuse me." There is nobody in the front, and she notes that the cookfire has not been lit.

"Are you alright?" she calls softly, and pauses for a reply before entering the bedroom. The light is dim, but she can make out two figures lying together on the bed. She approaches them, suppressing her discomfort at the intrusion.

"Are you alright?" she asks again. "I am sorry to-" she cuts off as she notices that one of the figures is lying completely motionless, and does not appear to be breathing. Carefully, she reaches out to check the temperature of the body. 'Cold.' The woman, still alive, looks up at Arturia with glazed eyes.

"Sebbi?" She lifts a hand weakly.

"I am sorry," Arturia answers quietly, taking the woman's hand in her own. It is hot to her touch. "If Sebbi is your husband, he has... left for a while. If you rest here, he will certainly return."

"Ah..." The woman collapses back, releasing Arturia's hand. "I'll wait.."

Arturia stands and backs carefully away from the bed. 'One dead, and one feverish and delusional, likely dying,' she thinks as she walks out of the house. 'Why did I lie to her? She is most likely dying. But she seemed to happy to hear that..." She pauses at the doorway to the bedroom. 'It is surely cruel to leave her there.' Arturia shakes her head. 'No, my time is better spent aiding those who can be saved than comforting the dying.' She crosses the street to the door opposite and knocks. There is no answer, but the door opens at her push.

"Please pardon my intrusion," she says quietly as she steps inside. The silence persists, and she hurries to the sleeping chamber at the back. She sighs with relief when she sees the chests of all the inhabitants, adults and children both, rising and falling steadily. After a moment of consideration, she steps inside and reaches for the shoulder of the nearest adult. The man startles awake at her touch.

"Who?" he mumbles, looking up at her blankly.

"Arthur. The scribe," she introduces herself quickly, before the man becomes hostile to a stranger in his bedroom.

"Arthur? What're ye doin' in my house?"

Arturia suppresses her irritation with the man's slow waking. "I am sorry to interrupt your sleep, but I must tell you something important. There is a plague in town. Do you understand?"

The man nods slowly, the sits up suddenly. Beside him, his wife begins to stir.

"It may be best if you took your family and left for a few days, if you can. If you cannot, stay at home as much as possible, and try to avoid contact with the infected." The man nods, and opens his mouth to speak, but she cuts him off.

"I have to go now," she says as she turns to leave.

'It seems this house has been spared so far,' Arturia thinks as she returns to the street. She refuse to think about the likely fate of young children in a town hit by disease.

Arturia jogs to the next house along the road, pleased to see that people are beginning to stir. The door is to the house is ajar when she reaches it, but she knocks anyway.

"Please excuse me," she says as she pulls the door the rest of the way open and walks in. The hearth is smoldering gently, and the front room is in disarray. Arturia rights a fallen chair as she walks through the room. She pulls aside the curtain separating the sleeping room from the rest of the house, and gags. A putrid odor assails her from the back room. She easily identifies the source of the smell as the man lying on the floor next to the bedding. He is nude, most likely having removed his clothing for comfort, and covered in oozing sores. She steps back, bumping into the entryway. To her horror, he stirs at the sound and moans feebly.

Arturia turns and flees, gasping for breath once she reaches the street. 'I have seen enough. I cannot save this town. The best I can do is to try to obtain assistance.' As soon as she has composed herself, she is running toward her quarters again. 'I will have to leave my armor behind for speed, but I should bring my sword, and Avalon, as well. I believe my old clothes and Avalon will be sufficient to command respect and obedience.' As she runs, she cannot help wondering, 'Will I ever return to this town?'

~~~CotD~~~

Arturia slows to a jog as she sights the outlying buildings of the small farming village to the west of Trekern. This is the closest settlement to the town of any size, and she believes it is her best chance to find immediate help for the sick people there. It has taken her most of the morning of hard running to get this far, and even if help leaves immediately, she knows it will not arrive until nearly dark. Despite that, she knows that leaving to find help and warn the surrounding villages is the right choice. 'One pair of hands could not have made as much difference in one day as many pairs will make tomorrow,' she affirms to herself.

Even before she enters the village, it is clear to her that something is wrong. The farms surrounding the hamlet are untended, and there is no smoke from cooking fires. She continues onward with a growing sense of foreboding, searching for some clue. Finally, as she nears the settlement proper, she can hear raised voices wailing with grief, and a cold knot of dread forms in her stomach, even as her mind protests. 'No! Not here, too!' Arturia forces herself to continue. She needs more information. This is the best chance she has to get it.

Arturia follows the sound of weeping, reasoning that whoever it is will be well enough to answer her questions if they are well enough to cry so loudly. The noise leads her toward a hovel a short walk off the road. As she rounds the building, she is confronted by a line of corpses laid out on the ground. 'About two dozen,' she estimates, relying on her experience with the aftermath of battle in order to evaluate the situation dispassionately. She looks around the village quickly. 'That is likely about half of the population dead. However, someone was healthy enough to bring the corpses out of the village.' She strides toward the end of the funerary line, and approaches the two people clinging to each other there.

A man and a woman kneel over the corpse of a child. Arturia cannot determine the gender of the child from the face, which is the only part visible, but she estimates the age to be no more than five years. She clears her throat to draw the attention of the people she presumes are the parents of the deceased, regretting what she must do but knowing it is necessary.

"I am sorry to intrude upon your grief," she says softly, "but I must have information, and you are the only people I have found who can provide it."

The couple looks up at her, but blankly. She kneels beside them to address them. "Please, tell me what has happened here."

"What happened 'ere?" The woman scoffs at Arturia. "Ain't it obvious? Everyone's dead or dyin'!" She gestures at the line of corpses behind her. "What more d'ye need t'know?" she asks harshly. "We sent a runner for help a week since, and now ye show up?"

"I am unaware of any request for aid," Arturia says apologetically. "I have come from Trekern hoping to find assistance for that town," she offers in explanation. "I did not realize the plague had come here, as well."

"We've no help t'offer you. Maybe if ye'd come sooner." The woman turns her back to Arturia.

"Can you not answer a few questions, that others may possibly be saved?" Arturia says softly. There is no response from the woman, and her husband turns his head away. "I cannot command you, but," Arturia swallows, preparing herself, "I ask in the name of King Arthur, will you assist me?"

The woman turns back to Arturia, her face hard, and shakes off her husband's restraining hand on her arm. "Oh, ye're here in the name of King Arthur, are ye? Where were ye when we were dyin', then?" she demands, her voice growing to a shout. "King Arthur is dead! T'way I see it, his country is soon t'follow. He'd never've let the Saxons live here, like King Mark's doin'! Arthur abandoned us, and this's what happened!"

Arturia lurches backward in shock. 'Is this... truly what the people think now?' she wonders, aghast. However, before she can follow that train of thought, the previously silent man pulls his wife backward and interrupts her.

"Sorry. She don't mean that. It's just..." He looks over his shoulder, and pulls his wife against him, rubbing her back. "How can we help you, m'lord?"

"Is that your entire village?" Arturia asks before she can stop herself.

"It ain't." The man answers this time, shaking his head, "there's a few others as fell sick and are laid up. Been three days now since th' last death. I figure anyone who ain't died of it yet ain't gonna." His voice is heavy with fatigue.

"I am sorry for your loss." Arturia offers the words out of habit, but finds that she truly means them. "Your wife said you sent for help a week ago, so... it takes about four days for the disease to run its course?"

"I s'pose," the man shrugs. "Can't say as we were countin'."

"I understand." Arturia rises to her feet, mind racing. 'Four days, to do this to a village? If I count from yesterday morning as the beginning, then by the time I could return, half the town would most likely be dead...!' The thought causes her vision to spin, and she sways on her feet.

"M'lord?" the village man says uncertainly.

"I must leave. I am sorry I cannot stay to help you, but I must determine the scope of this disease." She turns and begins to walk away. "Thank you for your assistance, and... good luck."

Arturia pauses when she reaches the road. One way will lead her back to Trekern, but she cannot find any hope that her sick friends will be alive when she returns if the progress of the disease here is indicative of its general progression. 'I should stay and help these people, as I should have stayed to help my friends,' she thinks, torn. 'My assistance here would be valuable.' But she cannot convince herself that the help she could give at this village would justify her decision to leave her friends behind to save others. Nor can she justify leaving behind the people that need her help here to return to friends who are likely dead. 'That only leaves one choice.'

With a heavy heart, she turns her back on her home of almost two years, and runs down the road in the direction of people she might still be able to save.

~~~CotD~~~

Arturia stumbles through the trees and undergrowth, ignoring the way branches tear at her clothes and hair. She cannot remember when she left the road, and she cannot remember how long she has been running through this forest. Even though it is dark, it is not the lack of light that causes her to stumble. Her vision is blurred by tears, and her heart is torn by grief. She has no destination in mind, and is driven only by a desire to escape that which lays behind her.

'Why?' she thinks. 'Was this the inevitable fate of Britain whether or not I became king? Could this disaster have been avoided if I had not fallen to Mordred in battle? Or was Britain doomed from the start, no matter who drew the sword from the stone?'

Behind her lay dead and dying villages filled with dead and dying people. She had run along the road toward the setting sun without slowing. Each time she saw buildings ahead of her, she hoped that maybe the plague had not reached this far. However, the scene she saw at the first village was repeated at each subsequent stop. Sometimes there were more survivors and more people who had not been struck, and sometimes there were fewer. If there were enough healthy people to manage it, the corpses were collected and prepared for burial, and those who lived voiced their grief. At some villages, there were simply not enough able-bodied survivors, and the corpses lay where they had fallen.

Each village she passed through was a wound that Avalon could not heal. There was no way for her to save those people. Each village that she passed reminded her that she would never see her friends again. Her friends that could not be saved, she left behind for the sake of saving others. The others that she left them behind for also could not be saved. Each corpse rebuked her for leaving her friends in their last moments. Each sick and dying person she could not save rent her heart. The bright sun and clear sky she ran under mocked the suffering she saw.

As the sun set, she continued to run along that road. Behind her, she left parents burying children, children burying parents, and spouses burying their lovers. At some point, the road must have ended, but still she continued to run. She ran onward into the night, trying to escape the tragedy behind her. Still, no matter how far or fast she ran, the tears would not stop.

'Why, then, was I king? For what purpose did I fight so many battles and make so many sacrifices?' she wonders. 'If this was the inevitable result, then what purpose did it have? If Britain was doomed to plague, it did not matter whether or not I drew Caliburn from the stone. It was all futile.'

Finally, she breaks through the trees. The ground at the edge of the forest drops away in a slope, but Arturia does not notice. She slips, but does not fall. The shock dispels the fog that has enveloped her mind, and she slows her pace. At the bottom of the hill, she comes to a stop beside a single tree that stands on the shore of the lake there. Everything stops here. There is nowhere else for her to run, and now that she has stopped, she does not think she can start again. Her feet ache, her legs are shaking, and she has no will to continue.

Instead, she sits and watches the tranquil water. There is no wind, and the surface of the lake is still. She sits against the tree and envies the stillness of the water.

'Surely,' she thinks desperately, pleadingly, 'surely this is enough.' The fatigue from the day weighs upon her, and she can no longer force her eyes to stay open. Arturia curls herself into a small depression at the base of the tree, clutching Avalon to her chest. 'There is nothing left for me here. Shirou...' She thinks of the boy she loves, who seems impossibly distant now.

"Shirou..." she mumbles as sleep claims her, voicing the clear wish of her heart, "I want to be with Shirou again..."

As she succumbs to her exhaustion and falls asleep, she does not see the gentle golden glow of Avalon envelop her body.

~~~Interlude 4-1~~~

The creaking sound of the shed door's rusted hinges wakes the red-haired boy from his sleep. The light that shines in accelerates the process, and his consciousness begins to return.

"Senpai, are you awake?"

He immediately recognizes the voice. It belongs to his kouhai, Sakura, who has been coming to take care of him again since the end of the Holy Grail War. Her presence here in the shed means that it must be time for breakfast. He reigns in his wandering thoughts and opens his eyes.

"Good morning, Senpai. It's almost time to wake up." Sakura is already kneeling next to him.

"Hm. I guess you're right. Morning, Sakura. Thanks for waking me up." He blinks up at her, trying to organize his thoughts.

"No, it's nothing you need to thank me for. I knew you would wake up properly, so I only did a needless thing." She smiles at him in apology.

"I see... Then why did you come to wake me up?" His mind is active enough to notice the discrepancy, but not yet awake enough to draw a useful conclusion.

"I wanted to wake you up today, so I woke up thirty minutes earlier than usual." He gets the feeling she is restraining laughter. "Today's a special day, you know?"

"-Oh." He recalls now, too late to save himself the embarrassment. "Sakura. I don't think I even need to ask, but Fuji-nee isn't here yet, right?" he asks with some trepidation.

"No," the response is prompt, "Fujimura-sensei is not here yet. Oh, but Illya-chan is already here."

The presence of Illyasviel von Einzbern without the teacher confirms the boy's fears.

"Crap." He realizes he will have to impose on his kouhai. "Sorry, Sakura, but can you take care of breakfast? I'll go and wake Fuji-nee up."

"Yes." She agrees happily. "Sorry for your troubles, Senpai."

He notes as he sits up that he is still dressed, and remembers that he had worked late the night before.

'That's good,' he thinks. 'I can go outside without having to change.'

"I'll be back in ten minutes," he addresses Sakura, "so I'll leave the rest to you."

"Yes, please do." Sakura accepts his request with a smile and stands gracefully, stepping away to give him space.

The boy named Emiya Shirou levers himself to his feet and leaves the shed that serves as his workspace, rubbing the last remnants of sleep from his eyes.

"Oh, Shirou's awake."

He refocuses his eyes and greets the white-haired girl in front of him.

"Yeah, I just woke up. I'm going to go wake Fuji-nee, so help Sakura out, will you?" He does not think this request will be a problem. Contrary to his expectation, Illya and Sakura get along well, and have become friends. Shirou pats Illya on the shoulder and heads past her toward the front entrance to his home.

"-I got beat." He hears her talking to herself behind him. He turns to watch. "I told you I'm going to wake Shirou up, Sakura!" Illya protests as to runs toward the shed.

Shirou smiles to himself as he continues to the entrance. Scenes like this one have become comfortably familiar, he thinks. When Illya refused to return to her country, he had asked Fujimura Taiga if Illya could stay with him. She refused of course, despite Illya's claim that they were really siblings. Instead, she offered to let Illya stay with her, but Taiga being Taiga, it was more like she forcefully took Illya in.

Since then, Illya has accompanied Taiga's breakfast and dinnertime assaults on the Emiya residence. Although they have been living together for two months, and seem to be getting along better... 'Their relationship has definitely improved.' Shirou thinks to himself with satisfaction as he steps through the gate. 'They've gone from fighting like strangers to fighting like siblings.'

As he heads down the road, he hears Sakura and Illya's voices coming over the wall when he passes the shed on the other side. Illya's relationship with Sakura has been much better than her relationship with Taiga, and it is a relief to Shirou that the two of them get along well. He had worried that they would not, because of their strongly differing personalities. He believes that Illya is responsible for much of Sakura's recovery since her brother died. He tries not to think about the fact that Illya is the one that killed him, and made her stop smiling. Although he does wonder sometimes if Illya is befriending Sakura as a form of penance, he does not think that sort of thing fits with her straightforward personality.

"Yeah. Sakura is able to laugh now." He dispels his darker thoughts, focusing instead on that fact, for which he can be unreservedly happy. 'That soft smile certainly suits her,' he thinks as he walks out of hearing range of the shed.

~~~CotD~~~

"Uwaah, you're mean, Illya-chan!" Taiga complains while she devours her breakfast. "I even gave you a special bonus to wake me up no matter what."

"It's only natural. I'll be late too if I wait for Taiga, and I worked enough for what I got paid for. If you want more out of me, you should raise the base pay and not just give me a special pay." The girl in question rejects Taiga's complaints with cold logic.

Taiga hums thoughtfully. "Why are you such a miser when you're getting paid from grandfather as well?" She asks, sounding like she honestly does not understand. "Everyone would hate you if you're stingy about money from such a young age."

"I don't care if I'm hated. I don't care what people beside the ones I like think of me." Illya deflects Taiga's attack... "And Taiga, pay me back the money I let you borrow. Your payday was five days ago, right?" ...and then counter-attacks viciously.

"-Eh? H-how do you know that!" Taiga reels from the blow. Illya scored a critical hit.

"I heard from Raiga. I can give you the details as well if you wish." Illya presses her advantage without hesitation, smilingly daringly. "You have until tomorrow to repay me. If you can't, I'll just take it away from your allowance."

Taiga gasps. "G-Grandfather told you even that!"

"Yes. We're together all afternoon," Illya responds. "Raiga praised me that I'm much cuter than Taiga."

Shirou winces.

"Uwaaah! What are you going to do about this, Shirou?" Taiga drags the innocent bystander into the war. "This girl's such a devil! She'll take over the Fujimura group if you let her be!"

Shirou feels he ought to reply, although he would rather scold Taiga for getting him involved than to help her against Illya, but something she said has caught his attention.

'Fuji-nee... You're still getting allowance at your age?' he thinks to himself, amazed. He puts the thought aside and focuses on defusing tensions so that breakfast can be concluded peacefully.

~~~CotD~~~

The chaos in the dining room ended as soon as Shirou stepped in. Normally, this should have made him happy, but it is such a rare occurrence that it makes him worry instead.

"See you, Shirou. You're going to be back early today, right? Then I'll be waiting here, so come home right away." Illya sees Shirou off with a cheerful smile.

"Yeah, I'll try. Take care while I'm gone."

"Hmph. You might as well live here, you idiot," Taiga pouts at Illya from behind Shirou, launching one last parting attack before she leaves.

"Yeah, yeah. You should get yourself together too. You can't cause Shirou trouble outside." Illya parries her thrust without even trying.

"Then I'll be going ahead, but don't walk slow and be late for school." Taiga ignores Illya and addresses Shirou. If it were anyone else, he would have applauded their maturity, but coming from Taiga it just seems like she is sulking childishly. Taiga mounts her motorcycle, and Shirou closes his eyes, unable to watch as Taiga rockets down the road.

After the sound of Taiga's motorcycle fades into the distance, Shirou stretches and takes a deep breath. Sakura already left for school to attend the archery club, and despite Taiga's flippant farewell, she was right. He will have to hurry if he does not want to be late.

It is important that he not be late today. Today is the school entrance ceremony, after all.

Shirou reigns in his wandering thoughts. "-Well." With that, he sets off, enjoying the spring weather.

~~~CotD~~~

Shirou reflects on the past two months as he walks down the hill, carefully thinking only of trivial things. Of course, it is impossible to avoid thinking in terms of "since Saber left," but he can distract himself by thinking that nothing important has happened since then. In a way, it is even true. The change of the seasons is the only event that compares in magnitude to that event in his life.

He thinks, if anything, that he has become a bit more mature, but he does not consider that a significant change. He is still pursuing his ideal of becoming a hero like his father Kiritsugu, although he has no illusions about his progress. He knows that he is still far from capable of being a hero, and maybe lacks the capacity to be a hero at all. After all, he was unable to save the person most important to him.

"Good morning, Emiya-kun." A familiar voice draws him from his thoughts, providing a welcome distraction. "It's unexpected to see you in the morning."

"Hey," he greets her cheerfully. "It sure is a good day today, Tohsaka." He raises his hand to greet her, and a thought occurs to him. "But is it really unexpected? We're barely missing each other recently." Now that he thinks about it, he has been encountering her here almost every morning for a while. "Well, I certainly didn't come across you too many times before."

"..."Come across" is it?" Rin's voice is threatening, matching her glare.

Shirou wonders what she is unhappy about. It is far too early in the morning, in his opinion, to be exuding such a dangerous aura. "Ah.' That thought reminds him. 'Tohsaka wasn't really a morning person, was she? Then possibly...'

"Tohsaka, did you change the time you leave your house?" he asks the glowering girl cautiously. "You came later before, right? You used to come at a time that wasn't too late or too early."

"That's not true." She denies it immediately. "I bet it's only coincidence that we didn't see each other until now. You knew, right? Our houses are in exactly opposite locations from this intersection. So if we get up and go down the hill, it's only natural that we meet here." And to support her denial, she provides a convenient explanation.

"Oh." Shirou decides to accepts it. "That's the first time I've heard that. I see, that would certainly-" and then his mind interjects his previous recollection. 'Tohsaka wasn't really a morning person.' For Tohsaka to arrive at the intersection at the same time as Shirou, she would have to get up at six, by his calculations. That is much earlier than he recalls her being comfortable with.

"Tohsaka, you're not sleepy?" he asks with honest concern.

"What do you mean by that?" she grumbles after a momentary hesitation. "I'm not sleepy, nor am I pushing myself. Why would you ask something like that?"

"Well, you weren't a morning person." Shirou steps into dangerous territory without thinking. "You'll unmask your true self if you go to school short on sleep. It'll be terrible if you fall asleep during class." He unerringly finds a land mine. "I bet you'll rage around with a face like an awakened demon if someone tries to wake you up." And vigorously stomps on the trigger. "Like, "I will kill all that disturb my sleep." That kind of thing."

"I-I won't do such a thing!" Rin splutters a denial. "I won't make such a mistake just by waking up thirty minutes early." In her haste to defend herself, she carelessly admits her previous lie.

"See. You did wake up early." Shirou pounces on the exposed weakness. Rin blushes and looks away.

"Geeze, quit worrying about when other people get up," Rin says, attempting to change the subject so obviously that even Shirou would notice. "If you have time to inquire about such boring things, just go to school!"

Shirou politely ignores the obvious subject change and resumes walking toward their school.

~~~CotD~~~

Shirou and Rin walk up the hill that leads to their school together, quietly enjoying the comfortable spring weather.

"Do you have work all this week?" Rin breaks the silence with a strange question. "...I won't complain since it's your time, but don't you get sick of that?" She follows it up with an equally strange excuse for asking. Shirou does not think Rin has ever straightforwardly expressed concern for his well-being in normal conversation.

"Huh?" He is taken aback by the question. "No, I got today off. I heard the archery club is holding a welcome party for the new members, so I'm thinking of going with Illya."

Rin makes an amazed sound. "You have some great guts. You must be a big shot if you're talking about taking Illya to school with an unconcerned face like that."

"Hm? Is that bad? I think it'll let Illya kill some time, and it should make her happy." Shirou does not understand Rin's objection. He knows that Illya often gets bored during the day, and she likes Sakura, so she should enjoy the opportunity.

"It is bad. It's definitely bad, but I guess I'll show up as well, then," Rin says, looking annoyed. "It won't be boring if Illya's going to be there, and most of all, I just can't leave her alone because it's too dangerous."

Shirou nods, relieved. He knows that it is Rin that understands Illya the most, not him or Sakura. Rin is the only one of the three of them that was raised properly as a magus, so she is the only one who can truly understand Illya's history. He thinks that's why Rin occasionally takes care of Illya. 'It would be good if she would teach her, too,' he thinks. 'Illya doesn't seem to understand what it means to hide one's nature as a magus.'

The conversation dies off again, and Shirou takes the opportunity to look around. The damage caused by the Holy Grail War has been almost completely restored. The Church sent a new priest after Kotomine died, and he has worked diligently to restore Fuyuki city to its former state. Although Rin has had some responsibilities as the second owner of Fuyuki, their lives are back to normal.

Some of the damage can never be fixed. People were killed. Some victims of the coma incidents caused by Caster's life force draining are just now waking up, and a few of the victims of Rider's Blood Fort will never fully recover. There are certainly things that were lost and will never return. However, the wounds caused, not just to the town, but to the people's hearts, are slowly healing. Because of this, Shirou thinks he should be happy with the state of things.

"-But it was unexpected." Rin's voice is so quiet that he wonders if she is talking to herself. Her tone is serious and she is looking down at the town, away from him.

"Hm? What was unexpected?"

"... Yeah." She does not answer his question, but looks at him with a concerned expression that seems out of place. "I thought you would be more depressed. I thought you wouldn't be able to get over it for a while."

Shirou understands immediately that Rin is talking about Saber. Even though they have not talked about her at all in the two months since the end of the Holy Grail war, there is nothing else Rin could possibly be talking about.

"Yeah. That's what I thought, too. I was about to go insane just thinking about the future." It may be an understatement. At that time, Shirou had been unable to think of anything but how he had failed to save Saber, and had gone through the following weeks in a daze. He had wondered how he could possibly live, day after day, with the knowledge that he had failed to save the girl he loved. But despite his internal turmoil he had managed to put on a mask and go about his daily life as though nothing were wrong, for the sake of the people around him. Eventually, the mask started to become reality.

"But it turns out you didn't change after that. You didn't even get depressed; you were fine the next day." Rin gives him a serious look. "At that time, I wondered if you were really alright. I can't put this into words well, but you had the atmosphere of a guy that would die in an accident the next day."

"What is that? Why would I easily die when I'm doing well?" He protests to keep Rin from worrying.

"Things like that happen. When people accomplish their lifelong goals by mistake, they can suddenly die." Rin says something absurd with a straight face. "The instant they think, "Oh, I don't need to live anymore," cars hit them while running red lights or they fall down stairs."

Setting aside Rin's tortured metaphor, Shirou thinks that clearly does not apply to him. He did not accomplish his lifelong goal. He failed. He did get depressed. He certainly did not think that he no longer needed to live. Rather, he wondered how he could possibly repay Saber for all that she had done for him, even if it took his entire life.

"So I was worried about that." Rin continues talking with no regard for Shirou's thoughts. "At times like that, people around you feel more relief if you get really depressed." Shirou feels like kicking himself. 'I was afraid they'd be worried if he acted depressed, but instead they worried because I didn't? Wait a minute.'

"Tohsaka. Are you saying you would have comforted me if I was depressed?" Shirou asks sarcastically.

"Of course not," Rin replies immediately, sounding surprised at his question. "I would have kicked you and told you to get over it. I'm just saying that it's a bit disappointing since I couldn't do that." She looks away.

Shirou smiles to himself. He has enough experience with Rin to know that she is covering her honest concern for him under the pretense of wanting to pick on him. When she looks away, pretending to scowl in displeasure in order to hide her blush, he cannot help but laugh.

"What? Was it strange?" She looks at him again, this time with a real scowl.

"No, no," he waves his hands in denial, "it was a strict line that fit you will, so I feel relieved." It is no lie. Her clumsily hidden concern for him is a relief, although he does wonder why she waited so long to say anything if she was worried.

"Then you don't have any regrets?" Rin asks in a casual tone. "With Saber gone and all?" She does not look at him, but watches the clouds while she waits for his answer.

"No. Probably..." He shakes his head. "I don't have any regrets." He says it, and realizes with some surprise that it is true. 'Things lost will never return,' he thinks. 'Of course I have no regrets. There was nothing I forgot to tell her. Perhaps I could have tried harder to keep her here, but we both protected our ideals desperately until the very end. That's enough. It has to be enough. Since she lived her life fully, living admirably until the very end, I can't remain lost in reminiscences forever.'

"Oh, then you've concluded this internally already." Rin sounds strangely satisfied with his answer. "So that's why you're not depressed or losing yourself in memories."

"Yeah. But I still dream about it. I'll recall her for the rest of my life. My memory will fade away someday, and I'll forget about her voice and her gestures. But still- I'll remember that this thing occurred, and that I loved Saber."

Rin does not say anything, but only smiles at him. Although he does not know why, she looks happy and starts to walk as if she is skipping.

"What's going on, Tohsaka?" he asks, confused. He does not understand how this somber discussion could have made her happy. "Did something happen to make you hurry?"

"It's nothing. I just want to get to school quickly," Rin says with a bright smile. "So let's hurry! I'll leave you behind if you're slow!" She turns away from him and starts running up the hill.

"What is she doing?" Shirou grumbles to himself as his throws his bag over his shoulder to follow her. "Pushing herself when she's not a morning person..."

As he runs, he wonders why she is in a hurry. It is only 7:30, too early for club activities. Dismissing his thoughts with a shrug, he runs up the hill toward the school. It is the start of a new school year and a time for new beginnings, he thinks. In order to celebrate it properly, he will have to let go of the past, even though the traces will never go away, even though the pain in his heart every time he thinks of her makes him want to cry.

He looks up at the bright blue sky as he runs. In the bright sunlight of a spring morning, it feels close enough to touch, but he knows he cannot grasp it even if he reaches out. He is reminded of the times he looked up at the stars during the war.

'The stars I could not reach, and the wishes that could not be granted. There is nothing we were able to leave behind for each other. Therefore, my memories will certainly disappear some day.' He lets out a long sigh as he runs. 'But still... even if it will not reach her, there should be something that will remain in our hearts. There is nothing that remains in our hands, but we lived at the same time and looked up at the same sky. If I remember that, I can believe that we can be together even if we are far apart.'

He accepts that some things will go away, and that some things will not. Because of that, he keeps running. As long as continues to aim for his distant goal, there may come a day when he will be able to reach it. That is the only way he can think of to repay Saber for the things she has left him, and to honor the things that are lost forever.

~~~interlude out~~~

* * *

I would like to make a few brief notes in closing. First, information on the disease featured in this chapter was primarily based on an article titled "The Yellow Plague" by J. F. D. Shrewsbury. It was published in 1949 in the Journal of the History of Medicine and Allied Sciences. Some limited creative license was taken.

Second, I'd like to apologize one last time to any experts or dedicated hobbyists of British and Arthurian history. Melding the two with Fate/stay night's history and creating something that is functional was difficult, and some sacrifices had to be made.


	5. Chapter 5

Fate/stay night and Fate/zero are the property of TYPE-MOON. This story is a work of fanfiction, and the author makes no claim to these properties. Some lines of dialogue have been excerpted from the above works in their entirety in this fanfiction. They are from the translations by mirror-moon and Baka-Tsuki, respectively.

Please thank Mashadar, Kyadytim, Da-Guru and ttestagr for prereading this for me. Their contributions significantly improved this chapter. Any typographical mistakes remaining are most likely results of the author making changes at the eleventh hour and not soliciting proper feedback. Extra special thanks to ttestagr, who caught a huge, gaping hole in the plot.

Once again, I must apologize for the delay, but on a positive note, you get more story for the longer wait; this chapter is notably longer than the previous ones.

* * *

**Continuation of the Dream**

**Part Two: Pursuing the Dream**

**I**

Arturia walks contentedly through the grove of trees. The leaves above her filter the warm golden sunlight to a gentle light that soaks into her skin, and the soft grass underfoot encourages her easy pace. The air is rich with the scent of wildflowers and ripe fruit, and she stops to breathe it in before continuing through the trees. As she passes out of them into the fields, Arturia looks around in confusion.

She stands alone on a hill covered in corpses. The ground is sodden with the blood of the fallen, and she is the only one alive. With a grunt, she pushes herself upright, leaning heavily on her sword, and tries to catch her breath. The scent of gore clogs her nostrils, and she feels her bile rise.

With an effort, she suppresses her disgust and walks down the hill. The hands of the dead catch at her feet, and she kicks free of them, breaking into a run as she reaches the base of the hill. She swings her head around, but no matter which way she looks, the carpet of death is endless, and so she continues running.

She runs until a familiar face catches her eye. She jogs closer and drops to her knees in front of the corpse with the familiar face. It takes her some effort because of the heavy scarring, but she finally identifies it as her friend Eadwyn. She looks around, examining the other pocked and scarred faces nearby, and shakes her head in denial as she recognizes all of them: Caelin the innkeeper, his limbs twisted and his body bloated; Emma, sprawled across the ground, her hand outstretched toward Arturia; Osthryth, surrounded by the bodies of the children she cared for... Everyone she knew from that town lies around her, and beyond them more corpses dead of disease. She looks back the way she came, but she cannot see where the battlefield ends and the carpet of plague victims begin.

Resigned, she begins collecting wood from the forest to burn them. There are too many to bury, and she needs to burn them to prevent the illness from spreading. There is not enough dry wood on the forest floor, and she is forced to take greener wood. As she carries load after load of green wood to the funeral pyre, she frets over how she will start the fire.

An interminable time later, she judges she has enough wood, and she grabs the first body to drag to the pyre. Her skin crawls as blisters on the skin of the corpse burst, leaking thick, whitish-yellow fluid onto her hands. She wipes them off on the clothes of the corpse, but they are befouled as soon as she begins moving it again. Grimacing, she checks for the reassuring presence of Avalon on her belt. Its weight and length make dragging the bodies difficult, but she cannot remove it.

As soon as the last of her friends is on the pyre, she lights it. It catches easily, and she kneels to rinse her hands in the stream, then turns back to her home. However, she is met by a wall of roaring flame. Spinning around, she sees that the flames have surrounded her, and are consuming the city. She rushes into the street, searching frantically. Around her, the dying cry out for help and reach toward her, but like the boy she she has finally found, she cannot help them. She runs toward him, calling out to him, but he does not hear her and continues stumbling away from her. As he falls, she forces prana into her legs and runs harder, desperate to catch him, but he falls too fast and disappears amongst the sea of corpses.

Arturia starts awake, her eyes snapping open and darting from side to side. 'It was just a dream.' She takes a deep, slow breath in an attempt to calm her racing heart. 'Of course it was just a dream.' She dismisses it with relief. As she thinks back on it now, she wonders how she mistook it for real even when asleep. With a self-deprecating laugh, she looks around. 'It is dark.' She thought she saw a faint light fade as she woke up, but now she can see nothing at all. Arturia tries to wave a hand in front of her face to test her vision, but both arms meet resistance. She feels her heart rate begin to rise again. 'I cannot move and I cannot see... perhaps this is another nightmare.' The rationalization calms her, but as she considers it, she finds it less likely. 'No... If I were dreaming, would I not have woken when I realized it? This feels too real to be a dream.' Indeed, she can feel the grittiness of the dirt pressing against her exposed skin, the pressure of rocks and stones against her back, and the heaviness of the stagnant air near her face.

'Earth and stale air... I am underground?' She struggles with renewed fervor, feeling the air grow thicker with each breath she takes. The soil presses in against her, impeding her movements. One of her outstretched fingers touches cool metal, and she chastises herself when the spark of energy at the contact jolts her out of her burgeoning panic. 'I am a fool sometimes.' She floods her body with prana and pushes against the rocks beneath her, forcing herself through the looser soil above. Her hand closes around and she sweeps it in front of her, clearing her way to the surface. As soon as she has enough room, she gathers her legs under her and leaps upward, breaking free to the surface by force.

Arturia lands in a crouch with her hand on the hilt of her sword. She glances around quickly but sees no immediate threat. Relaxing, she stands up, beating the dirt off of her clothing as best she can. The sky is dark but clear, and although the moon is nowhere in sight, the stars provide sufficient light for her to make out the shapes around her. The gentle night breeze stirs the surface of the lake in front of her, and the motion of the water catches her eye. 'That's right!' She spins around, and looks up at the tree she slept under. 'I fell asleep there, after...' Uncomfortable with that line of thought, she looks to the sky, assessing the positions of the stars. 'It is almost morning. It was late when I fell asleep, and yet... I feel refreshed. More than I should for so few hours of sleep.'

She looks cautiously down at the hole she climbed out of. 'I was not underground when I fell asleep.' Although her memories of the previous night are indistinct, she is confident that she would remember if she had crawled into a hole in the ground. 'What happened? The ground is too dry for there to have been a storm.' The only possibility she can think of is that some passerby thought she was a corpse and buried her out of kindness, but she discards that as well after a moment of consideration. 'What passerby would stop at night to bury a stranger without taking their possessions?'

With that thought, she recalls the mass graves of the first village she stopped at yesterday. 'Perhaps they feared catching the plague from me. It would be a reasonable fear, given how quickly it seemed to spread.' That thought leads her back to the memories she was trying to avoid. Slowly she turns her back to the lake, looking toward the trees she ran through the night before.

'They are gone. If not now, then certainly by the time I return. I have to accept that.' Her chest tightens painfully, and her eyes begin to prickle. 'Perhaps I was better off as King Arthur. I was never close enough to my soldiers to feel this sort of pain.' It is far more personal, and piercing, than the pain of losing her country. She wipes her eyes and shakes off her thoughts. 'I ought to at least see that they are buried properly, and return to help care for any survivors.' The prospect of something constructive to do appeals to her, but she forces herself to analyze the situation.

'I most likely lost the opportunity to be with my friends in their last moments because I acted on my impulse to help as many people as possible.' The self-condemnation stings, but she refuses to hide from the truth. 'If I had considered the situation more carefully, I may have avoided wasting my time on a fool's errand.' That is the truth that she must accept, a truth she will surely regret for the rest of her life. She considers it for several minutes before nodding to herself in confirmation. 'Yes,' she thinks. 'It may be that they are lost to me, but I would regret it even more if I did not do everything I could for them now.' She turns back to the lake, its waters now still and opaque in the darkness, and tries to emulate that tranquility.

She had one thought while she considered her situation that she absolutely does not want to accept. That one thing that drove her to this place in despair. She takes a deep breath and forces herself to say it aloud.

"My Britain is gone."

She nearly chokes on the words, but forces them out. She feels that if she does not then she will not be able to acknowledge them as true. However, her analysis of the information she gained the previous night leaves her with no other conclusion. Even if the scope of the plague is limited to the region she crossed the previous day, the population of her country has been dramatically reduced. Even if the Briton kings still rule, they will no longer have the manpower to fight the Saxons. The casualties from the civil war and the plague following on its heels have simply weakened the country too much.

Arturia steels herself for what she is certain to encounter, and turns back the way she came the day before. With a heavy heart, she slings Avalon over her shoulder by its belt and jogs into the trees. Dry leaves crackle against the soft loam with her footsteps, and she loses herself easily in the rhythm of running, letting her mind relax and her thoughts wander. She finds the familiar state comfortable, and it lets her forget her grief for a few minutes, until she crests a low hill, barely taller than she is.

Arturia skids to a halt, looking about herself in disbelief. Despite her skepticism, the world around her stubbornly refuses to conform to her expectations. She is certain she has only been jogging for a few minutes. 'I should not have reached open ground so soon.' Again, she struggles to recall with clarity the previous night, but even accounting for her muddled memory, she cannot believe that this is the same forest she stumbled through the night before. No matter how tired she was the previous night, a few minutes of jogging could not possibly cover the same distance as her blind running.

'This does not make sense. Was I moved and then buried? But by whom, and for what purpose? And why did I not wake when moved?' As Arturia ponders, she looks about her to get her bearings as best she can in the dark. She does not think it likely, but if she was moved any great distance then she will have difficulty retracing her steps in the dark. She chafes at wasting her time waiting for light, but she knows if she chooses the wrong direction she will be wasting her time and energy. She chews on her lip as she considers what to do, but her awareness of the time lost to indecision begins to nag at her. 'No.' She dismisses her doubts with a shake of her head. 'It is impossible that I was moved in a single night further than I traveled yesterday. Therefore, since I traveled west, my home must be somewhere to the east.'

A distant rumble from the south draws her attention. 'A storm?' Arturia frowns. 'I will have to hurry if there is a storm coming.' She tries to calculate how much bad weather would delay her, fretting at the additional delay. To her confusion, the thunder continues without pause. She looks for the flash of lightning, none appears. 'The lightning is usually seen before the thunder is heard, anyway.' After several long seconds of watching, Arturia spots a bright point of light as it appears in the distance. It moves slowly to the east, then disappears as suddenly as it appeared. A few moments later, the sound fades as well.

'I do not have time for this!' Arturia berates herself. For now, the most important thing for her to do is to return to the friends she left behind. 'Any beast or sorcerer that seeks to delay me shall regret it!' she thinks, confirming the comforting weight of her sword on her hip. Arturia aligns herself by the stars to confirm her direction and kicks off the ground, promising herself that she will waste no more time.

~~~CotD~~~

The horizon is just beginning to glow with the light of false dawn when Arturia slows to a stop again. In front of her, a dark stone strip cuts across the ground, too wide for her to leap without enhancing her strength. She approaches it carefully, frowning in confusion. When she kneels down to touch it, it is familiar to her, but she can't place-

'Asphalt-'

Recognition stabs a knife into her brain, and she stumbles backward, clutching at her head.

'-nononono!'

She knows this cannot be possible. It cannot be possible, so she refuses to accept it. Her mind rejects the evidence of her senses. No matter what, she will not allow herself to acknowledge this. Her head spins with denials, but no matter how hard she refuses it, the reality of it presses inward.

'Impossible. How could this have happened?'

She looks around wildly, searching for some evidence that she is mistaken. Instead, she falls backward as a car roars by before vanishing quickly into the night.

'An automobile.' The foreign word comes to Arturia's mind unbidden, and her vision swims as she is suddenly overcome by nausea. She rolls to her knees and retches, but her stomach is empty. After several ragged breaths, she manages to sit back, and rests her head on her knees.

'Roads and automobiles... Then this is the twentieth century, as years are measured by the Church?' It is the only explanation she can think of. Even the most outlandish of Merlin's pranks were never this creative. He would not know of the future in enough detail to replicate it. Although she often believed he had some sort of foresight, he never evidenced the ability to see clearly through millennia. Her breathing speeds up as she tries to conceptualize the difference in time.

'Is it possible I slept for a thousand years? Does such magic even exist?' Despite asking herself that, she knows it must. She slept for over a thousand years, therefore the magic must exist. She realizes she is hyperventilating and takes a deep breath. 'If I slept for so long, then it does me no good to wonder how I got here.' She tries to compose herself, but though her mind accepts her rationalization, her heart refuses to accept it.

'It seems I will not be able to return in time to bury them, after all.' She finds that thought amusing, but her laughter turns into a sob. 'It is not funny at all, so why did I laugh?' She rubs her eyes, but to her surprise, her hands come away dry. 'I am not crying?' She frowns. 'I should be crying. My friends are dead.' She takes another slow, shuddering breath.

'Is this what the people of the villages I destroyed felt? In an instant, their home and their entire life were taken away from them.' Her stomach twists at the thought. Guilt for her orders in the past weighs on her. 'They were right to say I did not understand people,' she thinks morosely. 'If I did, I could never have...' The thought dies in her head. As King, she did what was necessary to protect the country. Even if she had known the pain of losing one's entire village or town, she still would have given the same orders, unless she could find a better way to protect Britain. If she could not have, then it was better that she did not understand people.

Arturia shakes her head wildly. 'Why am I thinking about this now? I have already come to terms with that.' Her pulse pounds in her ears, momentarily drowning out her thoughts. She pushes herself to her feet as soon as her pulse subsides, but stumbles, lightheaded as soon as she straightens. She balances herself carefully, and assesses her condition. Her stomach rumbles, and she realizes that she is hungry despite the tension in her gut.

'I have not eaten for many hours. I should secure provisions. And information. I must ascertain the current year.' She frowns. 'I can... mourn later.' With practiced effort, she carefully stops thinking about the friends she left behind. It is not the first time Arturia has had to set aside grief, anger, or other emotions to focus on what must been done. As she contemplates her course of action, she hopes that, perhaps, this time will be the last.

Food is her most important goal, but she concludes that food and information will have to come together, when she finds other humans. Her spirits lift slightly as she considers her small bit of good fortune. She found a road, and if she follows it, she will certainly come to a home or settlement. She takes a step toward the road, but stops when her sword brushes against her leg. 'Carrying weapons in public was forbidden in this era,' she recalls with a frown, looking herself over. 'And whenever I was summoned, I was told my clothing was too conspicuous. Avalon, as well...'

She shakes her head to dispel her reminiscences. Irisviel and Shirou, or rather Rin, had taken very different approaches to disguising her, and she is uncertain which she would prefer to use now. "Shirou." Her breath catches in her throat. If she were to be brought to any time in the future by magic, why not Shirou's time? She cannot bear to hope for that, so she ruthlessly crushes her foolishness. 'I will not think of this again until I am certain,' she resolves. 'I am not some vapid maiden who flusters at the mere thought of reuniting with her lover.' Despite her herself, she feels her cheeks heating.

'Enough. I will have to conceal my sword, at least. Avalon... conspicuous or not, I shall not leave Avalon behind. If that brings trouble, then I shall deal with it as it comes. These clothes must serve, simply because I have no alternative. They are perhaps fine enough to pass for homemade, if old-fashioned.' She has no other choice, so she must hope so. She frowns at her clothing. 'My clothes and I will undoubtedly draw attention this dirty.' Arturia looks around thoughtfully, then begins trudging back the way she came. 'Wet clothes are a better choice than dirty clothes.'

She leaves her sword in the hole she woke in, covering it halfheartedly. Although prudence insists she make the attempt, she doubts she will have any opportunity to reclaim it. Stripping off her over-clothes, she kneels at the shore of the lake, scrubbing as much of the dirt out of the garment as she can without any proper equipment.

~~~CotD~~~

Arturia is grateful that the morning sun mitigates the chill of the air as she trudges down the road. She squeezed the water from her garment as best she could, but it was still damp enough to be felt through her tunic when she put it back on. Avalon bounces uncomfortably against her leg. She adjusted the belt so the sheath hangs vertically at her side, and belted it on before donning her outer clothing again. As long as she takes relatively short steps, it does not disrupt the drape of her clothing too much, and should not be noticeable to an observer that is not looking for it, which she has accepted as good enough.

Although she does not wish to draw too much attention from the people she may encounter, she desires even more strongly to avoid the attention of any magi in the area. Her experiences in her own time and her experiences with the Grail War warn her that magi are not to be trusted. Even Merlin, her nominal ally, was not above playing cruel pranks, and Morganna... She would be happier never to think of that witch again. Even though she knows now that Emiya Kiritsugu did not betray her, he acted without regard to her wishes. No, she will certainly be best off avoiding the notice of magi as much as possible. But because of that, she must limit her speed to the pace of a normal human. Although she is certain she would have reached _something_ by now if she traveled at full speed, she continues to walk along the side of the road at a leisurely pace, swallowing her impatience.

A loud sound from beside her startles Arturia. She had been aware of the vehicle approaching from the sound of the engine, but she had been expecting it to pass her like the rest that she had seen that morning. However, this one slows as it draws even with her, and sounds its horn again. She stops walking and looks up. Many vehicles has slowed down for the occupants to look at her: a car driven by a young man in a suit, a smaller, rounded car driven by a plump woman, a black van with tinted windows driven by a man in a suit wearing sunglasses, and a bus whose driver had slowed and watched her carefully before accelerating away like the rest. This driver that is honking at her will be her first interaction with another human being since waking up this morning, and she is curious what the people of Britain will be like in the current time period.

The car's window nearest to her slides down smoothly, and the driver leans across the seat to address her.

"████ ██ ████ ██ █████████"

She blinks, and cocks her head to the side.

"████ ██ ████ ██ █████████"

He repeats what he said, and Arturia shakes her head and backs away from the car, fighting against a rising urge to panic. She cannot understand him. The rhythms of his speech are vaguely familiar, and some of the words sound like she should know them, but she can discern no meaning from his speech. With a confused shrug, the driver closes the window and accelerates away from her.

Arturia continues walking along the road, her head spinning. 'I am a fool!' She berates herself repeatedly. 'Of course I cannot understand the speech of this time period. Language changes; I already knew that.' She cannot forgive herself for making such an obvious mistake, but she has not choice but to accept it and move on. Whether or not she can communicate easily, she must find a way. She has no other choice, after all.

~~~CotD~~~

Arturia slumps onto the bench by the church gates, wincing as Avalon bangs against it. She stretches out her legs to keep the sheathe concealed. The sun has long since past its zenith, and she must squint against it to see the top of the steeple. The sign by the entrance is illegible to her. Many of the characters are familiar to her, but the arrangement of them has no meaning. When she had seen the church, an ancient-looking building, she had hoped that maybe there would be some indication of where she was in a language she would recognize. However, it does not surprise her that there is not. The signs on the road here were unreadable to her, and she has not been able to read anything she has seen in this town so far. Despite her best efforts, she has not been able determine her location or the current date.

'What now?' she wonders. She has already walked through most of the town, and it is obvious to her she cannot stay to rest here, much less continue to search for sustenance. She has been drawing looks from the residents, and she has noticed many whispered conversations and pointed fingers as she passed. It seems that despite her best efforts, she still stands out more than she had hoped it. Yes, it would certainly be best for her to move on. Her stomach rumbles in protest, and she groans. 'I never imagined that the King of Britain would be reduced to this.' She has considered pretending to be a deaf-mute, but her pride will not permit it yet. She thinks she would prefer to starve than beg, but she hopes that her resolution will not be tested.

Arturia rubs her temples as a large, loud group of people walks past the church on the road. It is not something she had ever thought about, but being surrounded by people speaking gibberish gives her a headache. She does not know why she expected anything good to come of visiting a church. Her experiences with the Church have never been good. In her life, they were always a remote danger, threatening her country for its heathen ways. However, it turned out that they were never a threat she had to face. The more immediate problems of the Saxons and the other Germanic invaders had occupied her full attentions for most of her reign. And during her time as a Servant, she was twice betrayed by the Church in its role as overseer of the Holy Grail War: First when Kotomine Risei allied himself with the Tohsaka family during the fourth War and conspired to make his son a Master, and then again when Kotomine Kirei, despite being the overseer, participated in the fifth War with his Servant from the previous Holy Grail War.

Despite this, she wants to believe that perhaps not all clergy are corrupt. The message of peace preached by the clergy unaware of the magical world appeals to her, but she knows that they are also unaware of the doings of the organizations they belong to. And as evidenced by Risei and his son, the holy vows are not always meaningful. While she wishes she could trust the men of the cloth at this holy place, she cannot risk it.

"Hey, Gramps!"  
The voice of a young girl startles Arturia out of her thoughts, but she does not immediately understand why. There have been many children in this town shouting and speaking loudly in their excitement.

"Graaaaaamps, where'd you go?"

With the second call, Arturia leaps to her feet. Although she does not recognize the voice, nor know who the girl is calling for, she desperately casts about, searching for the speaker.

'I can understand her!'

It is difficult, and takes effort, but she can definitely comprehend the meaning of the words that one person is saying.

'Japanese. She is speaking Japanese!' Recognition of the language comes slowly, but as soon as it does, she climbs onto the bench to scan the crowd. Now that she knows what she is looking for, she quickly catches a glimpse of an Asian girl with brown hair fighting her through the people around her and looking around, presumably for her grandfather. Without a second thought, Arturia rushes into the crowd of people, struggling to keep track of the girl speaking Japanese.

'I have to follow her,' she thinks, somewhat desperately. 'this is too unlikely of an opportunity for me to lose it!' Despite Arturia's best efforts, the distance between the girl and herself grows. She is, to Arturia's eye, more experienced at moving through tightly-packed people, and Arturia elbows harder through the crowd. However, the gap continues to widen.

Arturia struggles to bring to mind the details of a language she has not spoken in years. Japanese was never her native language, and despite the Grail system imparting a certain fluency with it to her, she cannot speak it effortlessly anymore. Fortunately, the words she seeks are simple, and she is able to recall them before the girl she is following escapes from earshot.

"Wait!" Arturia calls in Japanese, stumbling over the word. "Please wait!" It flows more smoothly the second time, and she finds everything she knows of the language beginning to surface in her mind.

The girl stops moving and swings her head around. Although Arturia can only glimpse her face in profile, she seems confused. However, the delay is enough for Arturia to reach her. She slows to a stop as she draws abreast of her quarry and clears her throat to draw the Asian girl's attention. Arturia notes that her eyes, widened by surprise, are brown to match her hair.

"Excuse me," Arturia says, inclining her head slightly.

"Eh?" The girl spins to face her, jumping slightly. "You speak Japanese?" She points at Arturia, and her startled exclamation draws stares from the crowd.

"I speak Japanese," she responds. "Is that strange? People are staring."

"Ah!" The girl looks around quickly and lowers her voice. "No, it's not strange at all!" she protests, then groans. "No, obviously it's strange. Nobody else here speaks Japanese except my grandfather. You speak fluently for a foreigner! Hey, can you help me find him? My grandfather, that is!"

Arturia grimaces as she tries to make sense of the fast-talking girl's barrage of words. "I... only speak Japanese," she admits unhappily, "and I was hoping you could help me, actually."

"Why do you only speak Japanese? Aren't you from around here? And yeah, I can help you!" The girl visibly puffs with pride. "Gramps is always saying we should help people in need, but this is the first chance I've had to really help someone!"

"My circumstances are complicated, but I am seeking to return to Japan," Arturia says slowly, picking her words with care. If she is in the time she hopes she is, then returning to Japan is her ultimate goal. Furthermore, it is the only language of this time that she can communicate in. "However, I am lost. Can you tell me where I am?"

Arturia feels an irrational stab of guilt when the girl deflates. "We're in an area called Cornwall, I think, but I don't know what this village is called. I'm sorry!" she apologizes quickly. "I wasn't really paying that much attention when Gramps told me where we were going. All these towns have been so boring!" She pouts, clearly recalling earlier parts of the trip, then brightens. "Hey, I bet my grandfather would be able to help you! He'd know where this is, at least. Besides, it's really boring having nobody to talk to. I thought I was good at English, but even though I'm going into high school next year, I can't understand these people at all!" She grabs Arturia's hand without waiting for a response and pulls her toward a side street. "Come on, I bet he's over here! I searched over there already."

Arturia is unable to resist as the girl happily drags her on a tour of the town. She quickly deduces that the girl has already been around the town once with her missing grandfather she she is bombarded with descriptions of the town sights, prefaced with "Gramps said..." and similar phrases. Although Arturia makes no effort to conceal her lack of interest in the impromptu tour, her companion continues to ignore it. 'Or rather,' Arturia thinks with a shake of her head as the girl bounces in place as she talks, 'it is as if she has not even noticed. She certainly has given no indication of noticing that my attire is unusual.' Still, Arturia cannot bring herself to be angry. 'Certainly if I was not so concerned with my situation, I would be be considerably more excited to have encountered someone I can communicate with, even if she is only interested in communicating about trivial things.' Even at the best of times, Arturia would find discussion of the evolution of the architectural styles of a town boring. 'What use could it be to anyone to know what foreign styles influenced the construction of new buildings in each section of town as it was built?' she thinks with frustration, then immediately feels guilty for thinking ill of the girl's enthusiasm. 'That is untrue, regardless,' she chastises herself. 'The buildings tell the history of the place.'

Even though she tried to be patient with the girl, Arturia's sense of urgency continued to mount, spurred on by the girl's own lack of concern. When a quick glance at the sky showed her that the sun was nearing the horizon, she felt her teeth beginning to grind.

"Are we not supposed to be looking for your grandfather?" she snaps, finally.

"Huh?" The girl looks at Arturia with a quizzical expression. "Why would we do that? It's almost seven, and he told me to meet him at the hotel for dinner if we got separated. I stopped looking for him when I found you," she admits with a wide smile. "You're more fun than he is!"

Arturia sighs. "I see. Unfortunately, I do not share your appreciation for..." She waves her hand to encompass the town. "I was hoping to acquire information in order to expedite my return to Japan. You said your grandfather could help me, and I was planning to assist you in your search." She stops herself and swallows her displeasure. This child is not one of her knights, but a girl on vacation with her family. Taking her frustration out on the girl is behavior unbecoming of her, and she feels herself flush with shame. "I am sorry. I am finding this situation to be stressful, but that is not your fault. If you do not mind, could we return to the hotel to wait for your grandfather?"

To her surprise, the girl suddenly bows deeply to her. "I'm the one who should apologize," she says, still bent at the waist and disregarding the stares of the people around her. "I knew you were in a bad situation, but I didn't really think about it and I just dragged you around."

She straightens abruptly and turns away, scratching her head. "Geeze, I really screwed up," she mutters. "Gramps is right, I gotta pay more attention to other people." The girl turns back to Arturia, smiling again, but this time Arturia can tell without trying that it is forced.

"Come on. Let's go back." She holds out a hand toward Arturia. Arturia reaches out slowly to take it, but the girl huffs in impatience and grabs her hand. Arturia permits herself to be lead down the street, smiling slightly. 'She is a good, forthright child. Her heart was certainly in the right place; she was trying to entertain me until-'

Arturia stops walking, and the girl holding her hand stops abruptly when she realizes Arturia is no longer moving. She gives a tug, but when Arturia fails to budge, she turns around.

"What's the holdup?"

Arturia looks at her, licking her lips unconsciously.

"It could be that I am misremembering, but is it possible, perhaps, that you mentioned dinner?"

~~~CotD~~~

"Your grandfather is late," Arturia complains, trying to keep any note of accusation out of her voice.

"Yeah, he is," the girl sitting next to her agrees. "I'm going to let 'em have it whenever he shows up."

Arturia shakes her head and looks around again. She and her tour guide are sitting on a sofa in the lobby of the hotel the Japanese girl is staying at with her grandfather. Although she has studied it already, watching the people moving about still provides her with something to do. Arturia is aware that she does not have much to compare it to, but the room seems very well-appointed for a hotel in a relatively small town. 'Of course, it is nowhere near the standards of the places Irisviel saw fit to hire rooms from. However, it does have a very lavish lobby. Perhaps this is an important stop on a major travel route.' She glances back at the girl sitting next to her, who is swinging her legs and staring at the ceiling, and decides that even an inane conversation is better than risking letting the girl get bored. Given what she has observed of the girl's attention span, Arturia does not believe her patience will last much longer.

"Do you know why this hotel is disproportionately large, given the size of the surrounding town?"

The girl stops swinging her legs and nods. "Yeah, tourism is a major business in Cornwall. Hotels like this bring in a lot of money, and bring people with money to burn into the town. This town actually has three hotels, despite only having a population of a few thousand people. Of course, we're staying at the nicest one."

"Of course," Arturia agrees neutrally, with a slightly raised eyebrow. "You seem quite knowledgeable about this topic."

"Does it really seem that way?" the girl says excitedly, leaning toward her. "That's cool. I'm just repeating what Gramps told me. He's in the real estate business back home, so he actually does know about this stuff. It's like the architecture. He tells me all about it, and he gets a bit annoyed if I don't pay attention, so I have to remember it." She laughs.

"I see. That certainly sounds difficult." Arturia says sympathetically. Memories of training under Sir Ector and listening to lectures by Merlin provide her with ample basis for empathy. She shudders in recollection of the scoldings she would receive if she failed to recall a lesson.

"Eh? It's not so bad." She waves her hand dismissively. "I don't mind the lessons in economics, even if I don't really understand it. He's trying to teach me the things he has learned through experience because he cares, right? So even if I don't have any interest, I appreciate it."

"I see." Arturia nods to herself. "That is a very mature attitude." She finds herself raising her opinion of the girl. 'Although she seemed unreliable at first, she is more thoughtful and considerate than she let on, and I do not dislike her honesty.'

"What time did you say your grandfather would get here?" Arturia asks after a few minutes of silence, glancing at the large clock over the entrance to the lobby.

"Half an hour ago," her companion responds morosely, rubbing her stomach. "I'm hungry."

"I as well," Arturia admits quietly.

"You know," the brown-haired girl says slowly, "I don't think I ever got your name. I'm-"

"Tai-chan!"

The girl bounces to her feet. "That's Gramps! Come on, let's go eat!" She runs across the lobby toward an older Asian, shorter than her and with close-cropped grey hair. "You're late!" she shrieks as she charges toward him.

Arturia follows at a more sedate pace, mindful of the uniformed employees glowering at the running girl.

"This is your grandfather, I presume, Tai-san?" she asks when she catches up, stumbling briefly over honorific.

"Yup!" The girl, Tai, beams at her. "But just "chan" is fine. We're friends, after all!" She gestures to the man standing next to each other. "This is my grandfather." She turns to Arturia. "Gramps, meet my new friend..." She trails off, frowning. "You never told me your name!"

"You ran away before I could." Arturia responds, smiling at the girl's consternation. "I am Arturia."

"Right! Gramps, meet my new friend, Arturia-chan." Tai nods to herself in clear satisfaction. "Now that we've all been introduced, can we _please_ go get something for dinner? I'm starving!"

The old man looks between Arturia and his granddaughter. "Will your friend be joining us for dinner?"

"Of course she will!" the girl answers with a smile.

"I could not impose," Arturia protests. "I simply wanted to meet you to ask you a few questions."

"Oh, that's right!" the Asian girl exclaims, "she needs your help. She's gotten separated from her friends or something, and since she doesn't speak English, when she heard me looking for you, she asked me for help." She looks pleadingly at her grandfather. "You can help her, right?"

"It would be enough to know where I am, and where I might find people who speak Japanese who could help me get back there," Arturia interjects. "I do not wish to trouble you."

"Hmm." The old man frowns thoughtfully and is silent for several minutes. Arturia waits patiently, while Tai shifts anxiously on her feet. "Let's go to dinner," he says, finally. "You're both hungry since I was late, right?"

Arturia opens her mouth to protest, but he cuts her off, holding up his hand. "Consider it my thanks for accompanying my granddaughter this afternoon. Besides, I think Tai-chan will explode if we delay her meal any longer," he says with a smile.

The girl nods, bouncing on her heels. "Can we have fish and chips again? Please?"

Her grandfather grimaces slightly, but nods.

"Thanks!" She darts forward and hugs her grandfather. "You're the best, Gramps!" She backs away abruptly, looking sheepish. "Uh, sorry." She spins to face Arturia. "You ever had fish and chips?" When Arturia shakes her head, she grins. "You're in for a treat, then. It's great! The British really know how to cook. Fried fish, fried potatoes, fried sauce..." She trails off and swallows loudly. "Wait a minute..." she mutters with a puzzled expression.

Arturia looks over the girl's shoulder at her grandfather, but he just shrugs helplessly and waves them out the door, so she follows the drooling girl outside, comforting herself with the thought that no matter how bad this food is, it cannot be as bad as some of the things she has eaten.

"Same place as last time!" Tai declares. "I'll save us some seats!" Without waiting for a response, she runs ahead to a storefront almost out of sight. She looks back impatiently at her grandfather and Arturia before disappearing through the doors. Her grandfather sighs.

"I must thank you again for keeping her company," he says quietly without looking at Arturia. "This is the most cheerful I have seen her since we left Japan."

"It is I who should be thanking you," Arturia responds. "I have enjoyed her company, and she offered to help me with nothing to gain from it. And now you are even treating me to dinner." She pauses. "It embarrasses me that I must impose further on your generosity, but I must ask your assistance."

The man walking beside her dismisses her concerns with a wave of his hand. "We can talk of serious matters after we have eaten. It would be inhospitable of me to do otherwise. Come," he says gravely, "our dinner awaits."

Arturia follows him into the building. As soon as she walks through the door, she is assailed by a strong odor of fried fish and her mouth waters. She swallows surreptitiously and looks around curiously as her companion leads her to a table to join his granddaughter. Despite the overpowering smell, the interior is clean and well-appointed. Tai's grandfather converses briefly with an employee near the door, who frowns at Arturia, but leads them to Tai. The table Tai is waiting at is set with cloth napkins and has a wide variety of condiments set out, more than she can easily identify.

"I ordered already," the girl announces proudly. "I didn't know what Arturia-chan wanted to drink, though, so I just asked for water. I hope that's okay?"

Arturia nods as she sits down, noting with trepidation the other girl's disappointed expression. However, she quickly perks up and begins describing the food that is served in this place. Arturia smooths her clothing over Avalon and listens with half an ear as she thinks. 'Her grandfather's request to wait until after the meal is an opportunity I should not pass up. I will have to explain my situation carefully to avoid worrying her unduly. He will likely be able to pick up on my intentions, but I don't think- did she just say the fish is coated in batter before being fried?' She licks her lips.

"Hey, Arturia-chan, how long have you been in the country that you haven't had fish and chips yet? It's a crime! Fish and chips is a traditional food of the British people!"

"I have been here for a while, but since I do not speak the language..." Arturia trails off.

"I see, I see. That's a shame, but at least you can remedy it! Look, food's here!"

Looking around, Arturia spots a young man in a uniform is walking toward their table carrying a tray with several plates of food and assorted drinks. He briskly sets out a plate and drink in front of each of them before hurrying to another table, but when neither of her companions seems offended by his haste, she accepts it. She cannot identify Tai's drink, but her grandfather also has water. 'At least I have not committed some faux pas by not requesting something more elaborate to drink.' She glances at the others as they begin eating to ascertain what appropriate dining etiquette is. However, while the older man has slipped the breaded fish out of its paper wrapping and is addressing it slowly with the silverware, his granddaughter has simply picked up the entire package by the paper in order to tear into it with her teeth. Arturia is somewhat taken aback by the gusto with which the girl is assaulting her meal. She eyes the grease coating the girl's fingers with distaste. 'I would rather keep my hands clean,' she thinks as she picks up her fork and knife.

"Mnnnng!" Tai protests through a mouthful of food, but quails under the combined glares of her grandfather and Arturia.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," he chides her. "It's embarrassing."

She nods and swallows with an audible gulp. "Arturia-chan!" she scolds as soon as her mouth is free, using the same tone her as her grandfather, "I'll forgive Gramps for it on account of his age, but fish and chips is finger food. You can't eat it with a fork!"

Arturia looks at the food on her plate, then at the oil running down the fingers of the girl across the table from her, and pointedly cuts a bite-size piece of breaded fish, forks it, and slowly lifts it to her mouth.

"Hah!" The old man barks a laugh, startling Arturia, and elbows his granddaughter. "Looks like she's not the pushover you thought she'd be, huh?" He nods approvingly at Arturia. "Well, go ahead try it so you can let her know what you think."

Arturia tries the fish, and does not bother to suppress her grimace. The fish is not bad, and the outer crust of the breading is crisp and tasty, but the inner layer of the batter is still soft and custard-textured, and squirts around her teeth as she bites down. She chews rapidly and swallows, washing it down with a large gulp of water. 'This is terrible. I have eaten better meals in war camps.' She looks across the table at her companions with a betrayed expression. 'Still, I am hungry, and it would be rude to reject food freely given. And... I have had worse.'

The old man just laughs again. "I keep telling her that the fish in this restaurant is awful, but she doesn't believe me."

His granddaughter pouts. "But I love the way it squishes around in my mouth. It's like eating fish with pudding!"

"And I keep telling you that the batter is supposed to be crispy the whole way through, like it was in the first restaurant we had it in."

'Fish and pudding?' Arturia attempts to imagine such a culinary atrocity, drops her silverware to her plate with a clatter.

"Arturia-chan, was it?" She nods. "You don't have to force yourself if you don't like it. The chips are good, though."

Arturia shakes her head. "The texture was... somewhat unexpected, but it is edible. Besides," she continues, her voice dark, "I have eaten worse." With great determination, she cuts another bite from the slab of breaded fish. Now that she is prepared for it, the semi-liquid batter is tolerable. Mechanically, she works her way through the fish before turning her attention to the golden-brown objects that accompanied it.

An experimental nibble reveals the crisp outer crust to be thin, covering a center of warm potato. The flavor is not strong, but she finds the simplicity comforting after the ordeal of the fish, and applies herself to the rest of them with relish. Arturia swallows the last bite with a sigh of satisfaction and leans back in her chair to find her companions watching her with bemused expressions. She blushes.

"They were very good," she says.

"They must have been," agrees Tai's grandfather with a smile.

Tai licks absently at the oil on her fingers. "By the way, Arturia-chan, are you staying nearby?"

"Ah..." The sudden question catches Arturia off guard. "Not exactly."

"Oh, that's too bad," the girl frowns. "I was hoping we could play tomorrow, too." She licks her fingers again, then glares at them and attempts to wipe them clean on her napkin. However, the cloth is already covered in grease, and she achieves nothing more than smearing her hands more evenly. With a grunt, she stands up. "I'm going to freshen up!" she declares firmly, and marches toward the back of the eatery.

As soon as Tai is out of earshot, the smile disappears from her grandfather's face. "So, where exactly are you staying?"

Arturia winces. She anticipated this question, but could not come up with an answer she felt was satisfactory. Instead, she has to make do with the unadorned truth. "At the moment, I have no lodgings."

"I see." The face of the man across the table from her creases in thought. "Your clothing is somewhat unusual, although Tai-chan doesn't seem to think it's out of place."

"It is all I have," she answers. She expected this question also. "However, she did say it was a pretty dress."

"And I am sure it was at one time, although it has clearly seen better days," he agrees, frowning. "I understand if you don't feel comfortable talking about what happened," he continues in a gentler voice, "but is there anything else you'd like to tell me? Who were you traveling with?"

With a flash of indignation, Arturia realizes that he is treating her like a lost, and possibly traumatized, child. Uncomfortably, she realizes that is how she must appear. "I was hoping you could help me locate a means of transportation back to Japan," she says, somewhat stiffly. "I do not speak English, so when I heard your granddaughter speaking Japanese, I approached her. She said you might be able to help me. And I was traveling alone."

"She does have a lot of faith in me," he says with a sigh, but Arturia does not think he sounds unhappy about that. "You don't have your luggage, so I suppose it's too much to hope you have your passport or any identification?"

'Passport?' Arturia shakes her head. 'Whatever that is, I do not have it. I hope it is not important,' she thinks with concern.

"I didn't think so. That's a problem, but not an insurmountable one." He rubs his temples. "I'm not sure what your parents were thinking, letting you travel abroad by yourself." He sighs again. "Well, Tai-chan would be sad if I said I couldn't help you, and she certainly seems to enjoy your company." He nods slowly, as if confirming something to himself. "If you don't mind waiting a few days, we can take you back to Japan with us."

Arturia blinks, stunned. "Take me back to Japan?" She had not even considered that he might offer such a neat solution to her dilemma. 'It would be quite convenient, and I do not mind waiting a few days, but that is a terrible imposition. I could not ask him to do so much.'

"It would be irresponsible of me to leave you alone," he continues firmly. "Besides, I suspect you would find getting out of the country with no money or papers to be more of an obstacle than you thought."

Arturia shakes her head slowly. "I still have no papers, and I cannot possibly repay you for this. I appreciate your offer, but I cannot accept."

To her surprise, he laughs at her objection. "You can repay me by accompanying my granddaughter for the rest of our stay in this country. Although it pains me to admit it, this old man is not very exciting company for a teenage girl. If you still feel you owe me a debt, you can repay it by helping someone else in the future."

"I understand," Arturia nods resolutely. "I shall accompany your granddaughter to the best of my ability."

He smiles at her serious tone. "That's settled, then. For your first assignment as my granddaughter's companion, please go find out what's taking her so long to wash her hands."

Arturia starts to rise, but he waves her back into her seat. "Never mind, here she comes."

"Sorry about that!" the girl apologizes cheerfully. "They were out of soap, so I had to kidnap an employee and drag her into the bathroom so I could point to the dispenser to make myself understood. What were you talking about?"

"Your grandfather offered his assistance in my efforts to return to Japan. He is very generous, and very helpful," Arturia answers sincerely.

"I'm going to go pay for dinner," the man in question interrupts, standing. "I'll meet you outside."

"Okay!" his granddaughter chirps, seizing Arturia's hand and yanking her out of her chair. "I knew Gramps would be able to help you!"

Arturia stumbles to her feet and pulls her hand free, pointedly walking out the door at her own pace and ignoring the impatient girl next to her "There is no hurry; we must wait for your grandfather."

"Yeah, but I want to hear how he's going to help you get back to Japan!" Tai protests. "Is he going to pack you in a box and mail you back? Or maybe charter a private jet?"

"Ah, about that..." Arturia shifts uncomfortably. "He has invited me to travel with you for the remainder of your trip, after which I will return to Japan with you. Please forgive my intrusion."

"Really?" The girl bounces happily. "That's great! It'll be just like having a a sister! I've always wanted a sister." Apparently unable to contain herself any longer, she pulls Arturia in a crushing hug. "This is going to be so much fun," she squeals.

Arturia stiffens at the sudden contact, and winces, feeling her ribs creak. 'I do not know why I expected her to be upset. She certainly is taking the news much better than I feared. I suppose the grandfather would know the granddaughter better than I would.' With a sigh, she extracts herself from Tai's embrace. "I do not think even the most unobservant of people would mistake us for siblings."

"Huh?" Tai taps her chin with a puzzled expression. She looks Arturia up and down, taking in the fair skin, blond hair, and green eyes. "I guess you're right." She looks dejected for a moment, then brightens. "We can be cousins, though!"

"Indeed you can," her grandfather agrees from behind Arturia. "It looks like you'll be my granddaughter as well for the next few days, Arturia-chan," he says cheerfully as he walks past them, leading the way back to the hotel. "Please take good care of me."

"Yes," Arturia nods, following after him. "Since we will be traveling together, might I ask your name?"

"There's no need to be so formal," he protests, chuckling.

"Yeah," Tai pipes up, "You can just call him 'Gramps' like I do."

"Hmm," Arturia considers it. "Gramps." She pauses. "No, that won't do. I shall call you Grandfather. That seems much more appropriate."

"Aha." He nods with satisfaction. "At least one of my granddaughters is properly respectful, even if she is only temporary."

"Hey, Gramps!" his real granddaughter protests. "When am I ever disrespectful? Huh, Gramps? Answer me!"

"I could not imagine you ever being disrespectful, Tai-chan. You must be imagining things."

"And don't you forget it!" she says happily.

"Of course." He looks between his granddaughter and Arturia. "Would you like an opportunity to prove what an obedient, respectful granddaughter you are?"

"Bring it on, Gramps. I'll show you that I'm the best granddaughter in the world."

"Very well, then. Arturia-chan seems to have lost her luggage. Why don't you run ahead and see if you can pick out something for her to borrow for tomorrow? She's about your size, but you're a tiny bit taller, maybe a centimeter, so keep that in mind. We'll meet you upstairs."

"Yes, sir!" She waves an exaggerated salute and runs ahead toward the hotel.

"This is as much for our benefit as for yours," he explains before Arturia can protest. She looks at him, curious, and is surprised to see a serious expression on his face. "Tai-chan was just being overenthusiastic when she adopted you, but I was not. You will have to actually pretend to be my granddaughter when we leave the country. The less attention we draw, the easier it will be. To further that effort, I will be acquiring you some more clothing and luggage when we return to London tomorrow." He holds up a hand to forestall her protests. "I understand that you are not entirely comfortable with charity, and if it makes you feel better, I will discuss repayment with your family when we return to Japan."

Arturia fidgets uncomfortably as they walk down the road. Finally, she sighs, and stops walking. "I have no family," she states bluntly, observing her companion carefully. When he does not react, she nods. 'As I suspected, he already deduced that.' She resumes walking. "Accepting further charity chafes my pride, but as you said, it is a necessity. As you have very generously offered your assistance and asked nothing in return, I will gratefully accept... Grandfather."

"I see." His voice from behind her is somber. "I will not pry into your past any further unless it becomes necessary. However, please listen to this old man talk to himself while we walk back to the hotel."

Arturia nods without looking back, respecting his privacy.

"A few months ago, my daughter-in-law was killed in an accident. The details are not important right now, but it was an unexpected loss. After the funeral, my son asked to step down from the leadership of the family business temporarily, so he could spend more time with his daughter. However, the transition could not be made quickly, and his daughter was becoming increasingly depressed. She had always been much closer to her mother than the rest of her family. While my son worked on taking care of the formalities, he asked that I take my granddaughter on a trip to give her some distance from her pain. While that may have worked, I had not seen her smile until earlier today, when she came home with a stray foreign-looking girl that only spoke Japanese, and was willing to follow her around a town and listen to her talk about nonsense."

Arturia stops walking at the entrance to the hotel, waiting for him to continue.

"I have no right to ask this of you, but it might help my granddaughter to know that she is not the only girl her age to have lost a member of her family."

Arturia turns around, shaking her head. "If you think it would be of use for me to do so, then it would be my pleasure to help. It is a minor thing compared to the aid you are giving me."  
He smiles at her, eyes crinkling. "It would be okay if you acted your age, you know. Consider it a vacation, just for a few days. You certainly seem like you could use one."

Arturia watches, flabbergasted, as he walks toward the doors. 'I could use a vacation? Do I look that worn down?' She examines her reflection in the hotel's window as best she can, but she can see nothing that looks to her like it indicates the necessity of a vacation. However, her reflection appears younger than she realized. 'I am acting my age!' she protests to herself. 'It is not my fault that my aging was halted!'

Looking back at the stationary Arturia, her benefactor continues, "I'll be up once I see about hiring another room for the night. No need to wait down here for me. You can go up and join Tai-chan. It's the third floor, second door on the right."

With a nod, Arturia dismisses her concerns about her appearance and follows him in. She heads for the stairwell as he walks to the desk. As she climbs the stairs, she hears him addressing the person waiting there in the language she cannot understand, but now can identify as English.

~~~CotD~~~

Arturia moans with relief as the hot water of the in-suite shower washes over her. Rivulets of hot water ease the tension in her muscles and rinse away some of the accumulated grime from her skin. Of the many conveniences the future has to offer, hot running water is the one she thinks she missed the most. Although she cannot enjoy a long soak here, as there is no proper tub, she is grateful to be able to clean herself thoroughly.

'To ask for any more than this would be unforgivably greedy,' she thinks as she pours a generous quantity of shampoo into her hands and begins working it into her hair. Fortunately for her, the hotel provides basic hygiene necessities to all guests. Between the hotel's accommodations, the clothing her new friend lent her that is lying carefully folded in the dresser in the main room, and a large shirt her friend's grandfather had thoughtfully brought from the hotel's guest shop for her to sleep in, her needs have been provided for. His timely arrival in the hotel room had also saved her from his granddaughter's enthusiasm. The girl had somehow interpreted his suggestion that she find something to let Arturia borrow as permission to make her try on anything and everything that came to hand. Arturia had refused, of course, pointing out that she was too dirty to try on clean clothes. The enthusiastic girl had wilted at that, but it did not stop her from forcing Arturia to stand in place with her arms outstretched while she held clothes up to Arturia for inspection. Arturia had expressed her wish to retire as soon as Tai picked out a shirt that would fit, and a pair of pants that would not drag under Arturia's heels. However, Tai protested the loss of her model and chased her about the room, trying to catch her and force her into holding still so she could visualize her in one of the frilliest dresses Arturia had ever seen.

Fortunately for Arturia's dignity, the enthusiastic girl's grandfather had arrived with the key to another room on the same floor and an oversized T-shirt and brought his granddaughter to heel.

_ "Tai-chan, sit down and stop chasing Arturia-chan around the room. It's too small for roughhousing, and you'll break something," he scolded as he closed the door._

_ "Yes, Gramps," the girl sighed, dramatically collapsing onto one of the beds._

_ "At least you two are having fun," he said, drawing a betrayed look from Arturia. "Did you at least find something for her to wear tomorrow before you started playing?"_

_ "Yup!" The girl popped upright. "I was just trying to see if that dress I got for my birthday last year would fit her while we waited for you. I brought it because Mom always said I should bring something formal with me when traveling, just in case." She fell silent, and Arturia looked between Tai and her grandfather, feeling increasingly like she was intruding. However, the girl continued cheerfully. "I didn't think it looked that good on me, but I wanted to see how it looked on Arturia-chan!"_

_ "Is that so?" He looked at Arturia with an unreadable expression. "This is for you to sleep in, Arturia-chan." He tossed her the shirt, and held up a key, attached to a large tag. "This is the key to what was going to be your room, but if you two would like, I could stay in the new room and let the two of you play dress-up and braid each others' hair, or whatever it is teenage girls do before going to bed on vacation."_

_ "Really, Gramps?" Tai said, and Arturia almost thought that she could see the girl's eyes sparkling. "That'd be-"_

_ "-too much of an imposition," Arturia cut in smoothly. "I could not possibly separate the two of you."_

_ "It would be no trouble at all!" His protest confirmed Arturia's suspicion._

_ 'He is teasing me!' she thought with some annoyance, but the further realization that he was testing her kept her from making any angry retort. Instead, she smiled, aware that it would be obviously fake, and reached out to take the key from his hand. "Thank you for your very generous offer, but I would like to go to bed early tonight. Perhaps another time." She left the room quickly, ignoring Tai's whined protest._

_ "But you'd look so adorable in pink!"_

_ "I understand your aversion to pink, but do you even know where you're going?" The man's voice from behind her is amused. She shook her head, and he chuckled. "Down the hall, first right, and it's the first door on your left. Don't stay up too late. One of us will come knock when we're ready to go down for breakfast, or if you're not in your room we'll meet you downstairs."_

_ The door closed with a thump._

Arturia shakes her head at her recollection of her hasty exit as she finishes rinsing her hair. In the time since the last Holy Grail War, she had forgotten just how good it felt to have clean hair. However, the rest of her body feels even dirtier by comparison. She quickly works the soap provided by the hotel into a lather with the washcloth that was hanging by the shower. Arturia scrubs vigorously at her face until her skin feels raw and tender before immersing her head again in the painfully hot water to rinse the soap away. Without waiting, she moves on to washing her body.

Arturia notes with a frown how much dirt is rinsing away with the soap. 'I had not realized how much grime I had accumulated,' she thinks with distaste. 'How long has it been since I last bathed?' She calculates backward as she scours her legs. The accumulated dirt behind her knees washes away slowly. 'Not today, obviously, and then not yesterday, either... I was too busy... The day before... No, not then either.' She sighs. 'I suppose it really _has_ been that long.' The awareness disgusts her. 'How did I ever become reaccustomed to such low standards of cleanliness?' she wonders as she rinses the cloth, and watches the dirty water spiral down the drain. Sighing, she sits down to wash her feet. Compared to the rest of her body, her feet are even worse, and the dirt packed beneath her toenails comes free only slowly. 'Some of this dirt is probably a week old. Or perhaps over a thousand years old.'

Arturia feels suddenly dizzy. 'A thousand years... no, more. This time yesterday I was worrying about whether I would make it back home in time to see my friends before they died.' She leans back against the wall of the shower to keep her balance. 'Now I am here, and they are lost to me.' Her dizziness is abruptly replaced by overwhelming exhaustion. 'Why am I here? Why am I still alive? There must be some reason.' The questions she put off earlier return to haunt her, and to her embarrassment, she finds her eyes burning.

'I miss them! I want to see them again!' These thoughts overwhelm her. 'Why is separation so painful? Even though I knew I would be separated from them eventually, it was still too sudden!' She does not want to accept it. She was happy and content with her life, and she bitterly resents the way it was abruptly torn from her. 'When did I become so attached?' Unable to hold back any longer, Arturia hides her tears under the flowing water and weeps freely.

* * *

As should now be apparent, this story has moved onto a new arc. The first four chapters were a prologue; the story is now into the main body. I hope you continue to enjoy it.


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